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1 

/ 


WHY? 


OR 


Tried in the Crucible 


BY 

r 

D. S. S. 








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“ He shall sit as a Refiner and Purifier of silver.” 

— Malachi 3:3. 



JAMES H. EARLE, PUBLISHER, 

178 Washington Street. 


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Copyright, 1884, v 
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15 


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PREFACE 


We go into a laboratory to see the process of 
purifying gold and silver. The metal is put into the 
crucible, and that in turn into the heating furnace; 
then the chemist sits watching the dissolving metal until 
it becomes a sparkling fluid, so pure that it reflects 
his face. Then he knows that it is refined from its 
dross, and removes it immediately from the furnace. 

Again, we visit the artificer, setting jewels, the most 
precious gems of which are wrought out of dim, un- 
lovely stones. They sparkle with a wonderful bril- 
liancy now; but they were made beautiful by a long, 
refining process of heating and polishing. 

If all this is necessary in preparing jewels for earthly 
diadems, shall we “think it strange” if those intended 
for Heaven’s King must often pass through His 
crucible ? 

The following pages unfold some glimpses of this 
refining process in human life. They tell the story 
of real life and experiences. The scenes, the most 
severe and trying, are true to the facts. 


4 


“ WHY? 


The desire in writing has been to honor the Heaven 
ly Refiner, as a tender, unfailing Friend, in the 
keenest pangs of His refining crucible. 

If He will accept this work in His service, and 
permit it to win some heart to find rest in His abid- 
ing presence, we shall rejoice and give Him all praise. 

“And I will bring the third part through the fire, 
and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try 
them as gold is tried : they shall call on my name, 
and I will hear them : I will say, It is my people ; 
and they shall say, The Lord is my God.” — Zech. 13 :g. 

“And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of Hosts, 
in that day when I make up my jewels.” — Mai. 3:17. 

D. S. S. 


CONTENTS 


I. Mother and Son 9 

II. Motherless 20 

III. Stepping into Manhood 31 

IV. In the Refining Crucible 39 

V. In After Years. . . ._ 50 

VI. Emma Heyward’s Story 60 

VII. Emma Heyward’s Story, continued . . 67 

VIII. Emma Heyward’s Story, continued . . 73 

IX. New Shadows 83 

X. Shadows Darkening 91 

XI. Edith Ashton’s Crucible 96 

XII. Sustained in the Crucible .... 106 

XIII. Howard Fielding 114 

XIV. At the Old Home 125 

XV. Idnella Heyward 128 

XVI. What is Truth? 135 

XVII. Follow Thou Me 141 

XVIII. A Rest 150 


6 


“ WHY ? 


XIX. A New Crucible 

XX. Testing Trials 

XXI. A New Home and New Sorrows . 

XXII. The Crucible Darkens 

XXIII. A Fiery Crucible 

XXIV. In the Fiery Furnace 

XXV. Little Eddie 

XXVI. Esquire Belden 

XXVII. In the Border Land 

XXVIII. The Heyward Home 

XXIX. Answered Prayer 

XXX. Again in the Border Land . . . 

XXXI. Mother and Son 

XXXII. A New Crucible 

XXXIII. The New Crucible 

XXXIV. Robert Fenton 

XXXV. Robert Fenton, continued .... 
XXXVI. Alone, Yet Not Alone . . . . 

XXXVII. Old Friends 

XXXVIII. At Eventide . 


J 5 6 

160 

170 

178 

186 

198 

212 

221 

232 

238 

246 

2 57 

265 

268 

271 

280 

289 

297 

3°8 

316 


“Tired hands are folded, never more to weary, 
And eyes are closed that never more can weep.” 



OBBIE ! My son!” 

“Yes, mother; I’m here.” 


And a young lad hastened from another room. 

“Oh, what is it, mother dear; are you very 
tired, or faint ? Let me give you some of this 
new medicine, I have just brought for you. It 
will make you stronger. There, now, let me 
soothe you into sleep.” 

“ But, Robbie ” — 

‘"Please don’t talk now. Wait till you have 
rested awhile.” 

“My darling — son — I must talk now. Oh! I 
have waited — too — long — already! My Father in 


IO 


WHY? 


Heaven — Oh, spare — my breath, a little — longer! 
Robbie — my precious son — I want — to tell you 
— again, what a comfort you have always — been 
to your mother! God — will surely bless you, for 
being — so true — so loving a son! And, Robbie — 
I want — you should give me — that promise 
again! Quick, my — darling — make me that 
promise once more ! Once more — before I must 
leave you.” 

“ I do promise you, dearest mother ! I will do 
all things as you wish, Rut don’t speak of leav- 
ing me! You will not die! You must not die! I 
cannot have it so ! This new medicine will make 
you stronger. Oh ! mother, you will not die ! ” 

“There, there, Robbie — don’t grieve now. You 
have been my brave son always. Try to be brave 
now — and help me — in this struggle. There — 
take my hand — and listen to me, a few moments. 
Then I will go — to sleep. My noble — precious 
son! We have suffered — much together. The 
time is coming when you will be all — alone — and 
suffering. This will lead you — to go — to God. 
He will comfort — and help you. It is sad — so 
sad — that I dare not have you remain — in the 
care — of your — own father! But your life — must 
not be ruined — as he has ruined — his own life! 
Robbie — in that box — is a letter directed to Doc- 
tor Harland — of Weston. When I am taken — 


MOTHER AND SON 


II 


away from you — I want you — to go immediately, 
and take that letter to Doctor Harland. He was 
my friend — once. I think he will be a friend to 
you. My darling son — do you understand — that 
you must — go away — just as soon as I am gone? 
And you must not allow your father to know — 
that you — are going — nor where you have gone. 
If he knew, he would compel you to remain with 
him — and work — in that saloon — to pay the 
keeper for his whiskey. And the laws — of our 
country — would uphold him — in doing so. Your 
father — will be angry — in thus being defeated — 
about his plan for you. But you must be taken 
from his — control now. When you become a 
man — then — be a true son to your misguided — 
father. Oh! — could he only be restored — to his 
rightful manhood — and become prepared— for 
the — better life — in Heaven! My poor — unfor- 
tunate husband! My still loved one! Father in 
Heaven — may he — not yet be saved? Robbie — 
darling — don’t you fail to meet— me, in Heaven! 
We — will sing — again together— there ! Robbie 
— precious son — come closer — to me. There — 
hold — my hand — closer, I am — so tired — I must 
rest! Robbie — try — to save— your father. Re- 
member — your promise. You — will — not — forget 
— your — promise. Trust — in God — and — we — 

shall — meet — again. ’ * 


12 


“ WHY? 


The voice of the mother had been growing 
weaker, and her closing words were in a low, 
faint whisper, as, apparently, she sank into a 
deep sleep. 

The son still remained by her side, holding one 
of her hands within his own, while he gave to 
it a soothing caress, with which he had often 
lulled his mother into a needed rest. 

- This scene was one that could but touch the 
heart of any beholder. A loving young son, alone 
with his dying mother ! And both of them far 
from earthly friends. There was, indeed, a hus- 
band and father ; but he was that most inefficient 
of all friends and helpers — a slave to intoxicat- 
ing drink; and at this very time was a miserable 
lounger at a low saloon in the village. But Henry 
Fenton had not always been like this. Once, no 
young man walked with a step more firm and 
proud. And no one could have any fairer pros- 
pects in life. When he won for his wife the 
petted daughter of a loving home, he seemed 
altogether worthy of his lovely bride. But, in 
reality, he had no decided principles. And with- 
out decision of character, he soon yielded to the 
temptations that assailed him in certain circles 
of social life. All too soon, the glass of wine and 
brandy was the accompaniment of his daily life. 
This was the cause that destroyed the peace and 


MOTHER AND SON. 


13 


fair hopes of his home, drew him away from and 
ruined a flourishing business. And then, down, 
step by step, it led him from luxury and every 
comfort, to deep poverty and suffering. 

This gentle, loving wife clung to him through it 
all, ever hoping to win him back to virtue and 
happiness. But he would not heed her entreaties 
or her prayers, and for years rushed madly on, 
dragging wife and children into scenes so sadly 
humiliating as only the family of the drunkard can 
realize. 

For some time previous to the opening of our 
story, the only care that Henry Fenton had taken 
of his family, had been to remove them as far 
away as possible from all who had known them 
in happier years, and hide them among strangers. 
And he had succeeded too well in keeping them 
from the knowledge of those friends who would 
have protected and comforted them. 

What suffering years these had been to his 
wife ! To her they had been a purifying crucible, 
intensely heated ! But her refining was now 
accomplished-. No one could look into her sweet, 
pale face, without knowing that through the 
Divine Refiner, she had even now attained this 
promised peace. 

But Mrs. Fenton had never been a strong 
woman; and suffering and hardship had at last 


14 


WHY? 


exhausted her whole being. Of her four children 
only one was now living. Robert was a manly 
boy of fourteen. Naturally he was of a happy, 
hopeful temperament. But his childhood was 
made bitter by the taunting of rude boys that his 
father was a drunkard. As he became older, the 
knowledge that this was true, had depressed his 
buoyant young spirit, making him too grave and 
thoughtful for his years. This feeling was that a 
cruel wrong had been done to him, in his father 
being such a man. Other boys had fathers they 
could respect and love. His own father was a 
low drunkard ! The shame of this had stung the 
sensitive nature of Robbie Fenton almost beyond 
endurance. And then the hardships and suffer- 
ings of his mother! All of the slumbering man- 
hood in his boy-heart was aroused, as he saw how 
she was being crushed by his father’s unkind- 
ness. He longed inexpressibly, to spring at once 
into maturity of strength, so that he could pro- 
tect his mother. But already he had been doing 
for her comfort all that was possible. Before he 
was eight years old, he found ways to earn 
money for his mother. It was upon his young 
arm that his mother depended for every supply, 
since her own health had failed, and especially 
since the family moved to their last poor home 
in Marlow. 


MOTHER AND SON 


15 


There had long been a close and tender sympa- 
thy between Mrs. Fenton and her son. Their mu- 
tual trial with the husband and father, had led 
them into a free unfolding of thought and feeling. 
Robbie went to his mother with all of his heart- 
life. And she had permitted her son to learn 
much about her own. But since she had become 
conscious that her life must soon close, she had 
avoided any talk about herself. She knew how 
he would grieve at any hint that she was seriously 
ill. He would suffer so much when he learned 
the truth ; and for the present he must be spared 
the knowledge. But she had been trying to pre- 
pare his mind for any trial or event that might 
be coming to him. In the past weeks she had 
talked to him much about the joy, the bright- 
ness, the rest of Heaven. Many times she had 
said, — 

“ Dear Robbie, it is so very beautiful, and sa 
peaceful up there, — in our Heavenly Father’s 
many mansions, — that we must not grieve too 
much when any one we love, is removed to that 
home. Remember this, my precious son.” 

And then the mother had given many and 
minute directions for the best interests of her 
boy in the coming years. Her husband had made 
an effort to place Robbie as errand-boy in the 
saloon, and thus be sure of obtaining his own 


1 6 


“ WHY? 


liquor through the labor of his son. The mother 
had shielded Robbie from this until now ; and she 
had received his promise never to accept such 
employment. But she knew only too well, that 
when she was gone, Robbie would be in his 
father’s power, and wholly for evil. She had a 
plan to prevent this. But some things she had 
deferred saying to Robbie until that strange faint- 
ness came suddenly upon her, and she called him 
to her bedside. 

But in all of this Robbie had received no warn- 
ing of the truth as to his mother’s illness. He 
thought it was because his mother loved him so 
much, that she was anxious about his best inter- 
ests, and gave him so many directions as to living 
rightly in the future, and it was only because she 
loved God that she talked of Heaven. Robbie 
had so long been familiar with his mother’s pale 
face and slow, feeble step, that he was not 
alarmed when she had to rest all day upon the 
bed ; for he said, as he hurried home with that 
new medicine, “ This tonic will do her good ; 
the doctor told me it would. I shall be able to 
earn more money soon, and then I will get every- 
thing she needs to make her strong. All she 
needs now to make her well is to have better 
food. And she shall have it, if I have to work 
every night till morning ! ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


17 


These thoughts filled Robbie’s mind, as he still 
sat by his mother. As soon as she seemed asleep, 
he gently laid her hand from his own down by her 
side. But he remained perfectly quiet, so that her 
resting might not be disturbed. He was glad to 
see her sleeping so softly, for this quiet rest 
would do her so much good. And now a smile 
was coming, as if some happy dream was given 
to her. 

The face now lying so very still upon the pillow, 
was thin and pale, yet it was a very lovely face. 
There was, indeed, upon it the impress of suffer- 
ing, but it was passing away ; for a strangely sweet 
smile now illuminated every feature of the face 
that Robbie Fenton loved as few sons love their 
mother! Just then Mrs. Upton came into the 
room. This lady was the only person who had 
called at this lowly home of strangers ; and it 
was through Robbie’s influence that she had done 
so. As he was doing some work for her, won by 
her kind manner, he invited her to call and see 
his sick mother. Mrs. Upton did / so, and becom- 
ing interested in both the mother and son, often 
afterward came to give them such aid as she 
could. Now she stood in silent astonishment, as 
she saw that patient, motionless boy sitting by 
the side of his dead mother ! In a moment she 
went to him, and in a hushed voice, said, — 


1 8 


WHY? 


“ Dear child ! are you not tired ? Let me take 
your place, and you go away awhile.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Upton, but mother has been 
resting for some time. She will awaken soon 
now, and I must be here, beside her, then. She 
was talking when she went to sleep. I want to 
ask her about something as soon as she wakes 
up.” 

“ Dear Robbie, your mother sleeps well now. 
She will sleep longer. Will you not leave her 
for a little while, and take a message to my 
daughter for me? I will do for your mother all 
she needs.” 

It did not in any way accord with' Robbie’s 
wishes to leave his mother, just now. He felt 
unusually anxious to watch by her, in this quiet 
sleep, and be with her in her first waking mo- 
ment. Somehow, he had an intensely strong de- 
sire to meet her loving look, as she would open 
her eyes upon him after this resting. But he 
could not refuse Mrs. Upton’s request, and told 
her he would go. Then she wrote a hasty note 
to her daughter : — 

“You must contrive to keep Robbie Fenton at our 
house for awhile. His mother is dead, but the poor 
boy thinks she is only sleeping. Indeed, she looks as 
if in a sweet sleep. Don’t tell Robbie — he is almost 


MOTHER AND SON. 


19 


exhausted, and must rest awhile before he knows the 
truth. Take him into the parlor; ask him to rest upon 
the lounge, and leave him alone. Send Frank to Mrs. 
White’s, and ask her to come to Mrs. Fenton’s at 
once.” 

This note was given into Robbie’s hand, as 
Mrs. Upton said, “ Will you take that to my 
daughter ? And will you remain at my house 
awhile ? I certainly will take all needed care 
of your mother.” 

Robbie felt bewildered by this. And was still 
more so when Marie Upton brought to him a cup 
of tea, and told him he better lie down and rest 
himself. He had no intention of remaining long, 
and certainly not of going to sleep. But the 
effects of the nervine tea, together with his great 
weariness, soon made him unconscious of all things 
in a profound slumber. This rest of two hours 
was a needed one, to prepare him to meet the 
shock that awaited his return to his mother. 


20 


“ WHY ? 


It 

rf)©^er>l css. 


“ Oh ! there is never sorrow of heart 
That shall lack a timely help, 

If but to God we turn, and ask 
Of Him, to be our friend.” 

— Wordsworth. 

f T was the evening after the funeral of Mrs. 

Fenton. Her husband had reeled about her 
open grave in drunken insensibility, while stranger 
hands laid her down to earth’s last, low resting- 
place. 

Now, he was in his own room, in the heavy 
stupor of intoxication. 

Mrs. Upton and Robbie were alone, in the 
dimly lighted sitting-room. This lady had as- 
sumed the responsibility of attending to the home, 
and all of the needed preparations, during these 
sad days. She was inclined to think that Robbie 
was not feeling the death of his mother very 
much, certainly not so much as she had expected 
he would. 


MOTHERLESS. 


21 


Mrs. Upton was a kind woman, but she judged 
now, as many people do, — that if one in trouble 
does not weep very much, there cannot be much 
sorrow in the heart. And so Mrs. Upton decided 
that Robbie Fenton was not suffering much in 
« his bereavement. He had indeed been strangely 
quiet, from the moment he knew that his mother 
was dead. 

He returned from Mrs. Upton’s house with 
a buoyant step, for his sleep had refreshed 
him ; and he expected to find his mother better 
for her long rest. He was unusually impatient 
to meet her loving greeting again. So he asked 
no question, but hurried to her room. He found 
her still lying upon her bed — her eyes closed — 
and that pleasant smile still upon her face. But 
she was dressed for her coffin. In a moment Rob- 
bie understood it all. He sank upon his knees, 
and for a long, long time his face was hidden 
upon his mother’s pillow. But there were no 
words, — no tears, nor moaning, then, — nor when 
they carried his mother out for the last time. 
Those who knew what a devoted, loving son he 
had been to his mother, wondered much as they 
noted his calm appearance, his tearless eyes. Why 
could they not see that there was a deeper suffer- 
ing, because of the tearless eye and the quiet de- 
meanor ? Those who have never suffered keenly 


22 


WHY? 


do not understand this, and so, they often mis- 
judge. 

Good Mrs. Upton was perplexed about Robbie, 
as they sat silently together, late into the night. 
Her motherly heart compelled her to linger. But 
what could she do for him now ? He had not 
spoken a word all day. He was sitting now by 
his mother’s low rocker, with his head laid upon 
one of its arms, and his face hidden within his 
hands. 

Mrs. Upton began to feel that she must return 
to her own home. But she could not go away 
and leave this boy so. She went now nearer to 
him, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said 
kindly, — 

“ Robbie, you ’d better go to bed. You are 
tired, and it is very late.” 

The boy started up then. 

“ To bed ? Oh, no L I cannot do that ! ” 

And then, as if his young and troubled spirit 
could no longer be silent, he exclaimed: — 

“ Why does God let so much misery be in this 
world? If He is so good, why does He let peo- 
ple suffer so?” 

“ Don’t you believe that God is good, Robbie?” 

“Why — I don’t know what to believe. My 
mother was always saying ‘God is good,’ but I 
don’t see how He is good to me. It has been 


MOTHERLESS. 


23 


sad in our home ever since I can remember, 
because — well, my father would drink so. And 
now, God has taken away from me my only 
friend, — my precious mother! I need her; why 
did God let her die ? I cannot bear it ! Oh, my 
mother ! my precious mother ! ” 

Now was unsealed the pent-up sorrow of a 
deeply suffering young heart. And again Robbie 
bowed his head upon the arm of his mother’s low 
rocker, and wept without restraint. Tears of a 
sacred grief can never dishonor the strongest 
manhood ; and Robert Fenton never blushed as 
he recalled this scene ; but in after years it 

remained in his memory, as a casket from which 
there sprang a responsive sympathy in the sor- 
rows of others, and a tender patience with 

woman’s tears. 

From this night, too, Robert Fenton dated the 
time when he first really prayed to God. From 
childhood, and by his mother’s side, he had 
offered many prayers. But never, until this night, 
had he prayed to a real, living God in Heaven. 
This night was all so dark with a bitter grief, — 
and his young spirit so alone, — he seemed com- 
pelled to look away to that bright world where 
his mother had gone, and to cry with a strong 
pleading to the God he loved to help him. 

Robert Fenton was to be made an instrument, 


24 


“ WHY? 


in God’s hand, of blessing to others ; and the prep- 
aration had now begun. The Divine Refiner 
placed the loving young soul in a crucible that 
would purify, expand, and lift it nearer to Him- 
self. 

The bitter sobbing ceased as Robbie began to 
think of God as a Father to whom he was per- 
mitted to go for help. So he asked that all his 
wrong words to-night, and all his sins, might 
be forgiven, and that God would help him to 
love and trust Him as his own Friend. And the 
answer came soon. Even now there comes to 
Robbie the feeling that God forgives him, and 
receives him as His own child. Now, he feels 
stronger in spirit, and his sorrow is soothed. 
And then, it comforts him to think that his 
lovely mother is now resting in Heaven, beyond 
all suffering and sorrow ; and, with the help of 
God, he would find her there sometime. 

But, at length, Robbie remembered that there 
was something he must do at once, as his 
mother’s words came back to him. 

He must go away from Marlow before morn- 
ing. 

His tears flowed afresh, as he thought of his 
mother’s solicitude for him, and how she gave her 
last strength in directing him what to do. • But 
this very remembrance now nerved him up to act 


MO THERLESS. 


25 


with necessary promptness. Rising from his 
chair, he turned to Mrs. Upton, and said, — 

“ Please pardon all of my hasty words to-night. 
I think God has forgiven me. I thank you very 
much for all of your kindness to my dear 
mother and myself in our trouble. I can never 
forget what you have done for us. Sometime I 
will try to make some return. I am going away 
from Marlow to-night. If I remain here until 
morning my father will detain me, and compel 
me to work in that saloon to pay for his whiskey. 
He must not know where I am ; and I cannot tell 
you now where I am going. All that I now can 
tell you is this, — that I am going to see an old 
friend of my mother’s. But, sometime, you shall 
hear from me. May I ask if you will see a 
little to my poor father, — you, and the other 
neighbors? You shall all be rewarded as soon as 
possible. I must not detain you any longer from 
your home. Please let me bid you good-night 
and good-bye.” 

Was this the same young lad that was so 
crushed with sorrow just now? Mrs. Upton 
did not at this moment remember how Robbie 
Fenton, in being his mother’s only reliance, 
had learned to be self-reliant. And then she 
knew nothing of the strength and comforting 
that had come to him from God. But she prom- 


2 6 


WHY? 


ised to remember him and his request about his 
father, and left him with a kind good-bye. 

Robbie was glad to be alone a little while in 
the place that had been home, with his mother. 
Now, he went through all the rooms, so full of 
loving memories of that precious mother. Again 
he knelt by the bedside where he had that last 
talk with her. Once more he had a time of 
strong crying to God in prayer. And again 
soothing and strength were given to him from 
the Divine Comforter. 

Now Robbie gathered some of his mother’s 
most valued treasures, — such small articles as 
he could carry with him, including her pocket 
Bible, — and he was ready to go. But he must 
look at his poor father again. He went to his 
room. There he lay, — a once noble man, ruined 
by strong drink. How Robbie Fenton would 
have loved his father! How he pitied him, not- 
withstanding all the misery he had brought upon 
his family and himself. Even now, Robbie would 
not leave him if it could do any good to 
remain, and if he had not promised his mother 
to go. 

When the early stage came through Marlow, 
Robbie, with his small trunk, was waiting by the 
roadside, and soon Marlow was left far behind. 
At the close of the next day, the lumbering old 


MOTHERLESS. 


2 7 


coach rolled into the village of Weston, and 
Robbie Fenton was left at the office-door of Doc- 
tor Harland. The sensitive shrinking from stran- 
gers that his father’s drinking habits had early 
caused Robbie to experience, was rushing over 
him, but, without yielding a moment to the feel- 
ing, he entered the office and asked for Doctor 
Harland. A gentleman came forward, saying, “ I 
am the doctor,” and received the letter the boy 
gave to him. 

“ It is from my mother, sir. She is not living. 
Before she died she asked me to bring that letter 
to you.” 

The doctor opened the letter, and read: — 

“Will Doctor Harland receive the son of her who 
was Mary Alden, and give to him the protection he 
needs from his own misguided father? Not for her 
own sake, nor for any memory of past days, does his 
mother ask this of you. But in the name only of Him 
who has special promises for the orphan, and because 
I believe you worthy of trust, I ask you, — in this my 
dying hour, — to be a friend to my precious son, 
Robbie. 

“MAkY Fenton.” 

Perhaps Doctor Harland would have repelled 
any suggestion made in advance to receive into 
his own care the son of Mary Alden, — the 


28 


WHY?” 


woman who, in her happy girlhood, so decidedly 
refused to become his wife. Could he refuse this 
appeal, now that her motherless boy stood before 
him ? We shall see. 

It was difficult, perhaps, for the doctor to read 
the trembling lines, traced by a hand growing 
cold in death. Or, it might be that his memory 
was too deeply stirred. Whatever the cause, the 
doctor was a long time reading the few lines, or 
in pondering over their suggestions. At last he 
laid down the mother’s letter, and turned to look 
again at her son. Robbie had walked to the 
window, and now stood looking up to the hills 
beyond the village. There was a very sorrowful 
expression in those young eyes. But they were 
like his mother’s eyes ; and the mouth was like 
h$rs, too, — refined, sensitive. Yes! this boy 
was truly Mary Alden’s son ! 

What a rush of memories came back to the 
strong-nerved, serene doctor, of a time when he 
would have sacrificed all else if he could have 
won Mary Alden for his wife! And would he 
now refuse to be a friend to her son? No! His 
views of Christian duty would prevent him from 
refusing such an appeal. And then, his own 
home was a childless one. He had for years 
been desiring a son of his own. Now, he would 
take this boy into his care, and if he proved 


MOTHERLESS. 


2 9 


to be worthy, he should be as an own son to 
him. 

“ Robbie! ” 

The boy started, almost in alarm, as he heard 
the familiar pet name. 

“In this letter your mother calls you Robbie; 
may I not call you so? Your mother asks me to 
be a friend to you. I will be that, ' and more, 
if you prove to be true. I have no son, — no 
child. Will you be a son to me ? ” 

Doctor Harland was a dark, stern-looking man; 
but his friends and patients, who knew him best, 
trusted him without a fear. And as Robbie Fen- 
ton now looked into those keen, but kindly eyes, 
he felt sure that he could trust and love such a 
man as his father. So he gave his hand to Doc- 
tor Harland, as he said,— 

“I will try to be all you wish, sir.” 

“It is a covenant, then, between us. And I 
think neither of us will be sorry for it.” 

And then, with something like the alacrity of 
his young days, the doctor took Robbie to his 
wife. 

“He is to be our son, Annis, — your son, and 
mine. It will do us all good, I hope.” 

Doctor Harland did not confine his professional 
attentions to the body only ; but included in his 
diagnoses the mental and spiritual needs of his 


30 


WHY? 


patients. One of his pet theories was that no 
home could long retain its healthy elements with- 
out the presence of young life. The laugh, and 
glee, and clinging love of children were needed in 
all homes. His own home, and his delicate lady 
wife, were no exceptions. He was thinking of 
his wife when he decided to receive Robbie into 
his family. But Mrs. Harland had lived exclu- 
sively for herself too long. She never gave to 
Robbie anything more than a place in her 

home : never one in her heart. This did not 

matter so much to him, as his own mother 

was always enshrined in his loving memory. 

But in Doctor Harland, Robbie found a true 
friend, who gave to him a father’s love and 

care. 



STEPPING INTO MANHOOD. 


31 


III. 

iDfeppirjcj • ir)f© • ff)ar>l)0oeL 

“ Like the swell of some sweet tune, 

Morning rises into noon, 

May glides onward into June.” 

— Longfellow. 

E IGHT years have carried Robert Fenton into 
‘maturing, young manhood. He was a son 
for any father to be proud of, and Doctor Har- 
land was a proud and happy father. As he 
watched the unfolding of a noble, Christian man 
in his adopted son, he rejoiced in the Provi- 
dence that gave into his own home-care, the 
son of his early friend, Mary Alden. 

Robert has been three years at Yale. In one 
year more he will enter upon professional life. 
Doctor Harland is hoping that Robert may 
choose to be a physician, and remain with him. 
The doctor even now allows himself to indulge 
in some day-dreams, of the rest and comfort 
that will come to him when h$ can intrust some 
of his duties to that strong, young hand and 
true heart. 


WHY? 



The earthly path of Robert Fenton is indeed 
opening pleasantly. The memory of his mother 
is still fondly cherished. Rut his early life seems 
like a sad dream. Henry Fenton never knew 
where his son was. But Doctor Harland had 
some communications with Mrs. Upton, and se- 
cured for the unhappy man all those attentions 
that were needed. His father’s death recalled 
the bitter trials in Marlow. But that was five 
years ago. 

Now, life to Robert was full of the sunshine 
of success, of gladness, and of love! For he 
was not only strong to win the race among his 
compeers in literary attainments, ranking high in 
college honors, but a . new joy crowned his life. 
His retiring disposition, and his student life, had 
prevented Robert from making many acquaint- 
ances. And it was not until his last year’s 
vacation, that he had mingled in any of the social 
gatherings in Weston. At that time he went 
with some young people to a picnic in Deacon 
Dudley’s grove. While he stood watching the 
different groups of merry young people, one face 
suddenly arrested his attention; it was that of a 
fair, young girl, in whose features and smile 
there was a strong resemblance to his mother. 
Robert was startled, and in the loving memories 
of his mother, that thronged upon him, he forgot 


STEPPING INTO MANHOOD. 


33 


himself, until he was made aware that the lady 
noticed and was annoyed by his prolonged looking 
at her. He then sought for an introduction, and 
apologized for his seeming impertinence by telling 
her why his gaze was so irresistibly drawn to her 
face. This was the beginning of a friendship 
between them. The wonderful resemblance to 
his mother first attracted Robert, but it was 
herself that won his love. And Robert Fenton 
loved as only the best of men can love. 

Love ! How many good people start at the 
word as something not to be spoken or thought 
of ! And too few, even of most worthy men 
and women, ever understand its truest meaning. 
It is not mere sentiment. It is not passion. 
These are only fancies of an hour. But love 
is as deathless as God Himself, — for He is its 
centre, — the Fountain from which it flows. Love 
is the element of Heaven, and pervades all that 
is best upon earth. True love is pure and 
unselfish. It was something of a love lijce this 
that Robert gave to Emma Dudley. And she 
had promised to become his wife. What more 
could earth give to him of its best happiness ? 

It is now the third year of Robert’s college 
life. He has passed unscathed through the varied 
temptations that beset young men. He is one 
of the first in his class. The professors honor 


34 


WHY? 


and trust him ; and his fellow-students can but 
respect him. Nevertheless, his uprightness does 
not suit some of his class-mates. It irritates 
them that they can never see him ignoring the 
college rules, and never persuade him to join 
with them in convivial scenes, or gain his aid to 
smuggle liquors into the students’ dormitories. 

“You will have to excuse me, gentlemen, from 
all that kind of business. I have never tasted 
of any intoxicating drink : I never shall. And 
if I wished to use stimulants I surely would 
not bring it here, against the regulations of the 
college.” 

“Ah, ha!” they said among themselves; “you 
set yourself up as so much better than we are, 
do you, Miss Nancy, with your prim ways and 
sanctimonious words ? ” 

“ I tell you what, boys ! ” said one, who took 
the lead in frolics; “let us give Fenton a hazing 
if he is a senior. We will compel him to drink 
some of our choice brandy. Won’t it be rare 
fun if Fenton is absent from class recitation some 
morning with a drunken headache?” 

The speaker was a young man with a pleasant 
face and a commanding person. Out in society 
he was known only as a man of wealth and talent. 
But he was sadly lacking' in every right principle, 
and was the acknowledged leader in the college 


STEPPING INTO MANHOOD. 


35 


carousals. George Heyward had felt more irri- 
tated than he allowed his chums to know of, at 
the unyielding rectitude of Robert Fenton. Jeal- 
ousy had something to do in this; for Heyward 
knew that Fenton not only stood upon a higher 
moral platform, but also as a scholar Fenton 
occupied a high position, that might have been 
his own had he made the needed effort. Now, 
under the guise of a frolic, he was planning to 
humble Fenton before the college and the world. 
His associates would have left this all to Hey- 
ward, as they felt no ill-will towards Fenton. 
But they were compelled to give Heyward their 
co-operation by his commanding will. 

When their arrangements were completed, they 
went together, — some half a dozen young men, 
— to make Fenton an evening call at his room. 
He was busy with his books, but received them 
with a pleasant welcome. After a few moments 
of general conversation, Heyward arose, and 
with a quick step, went to Fenton’s side. 
Throwing his arms about Fenton in a manner 
to give to himself every advantage, he at the same 
time called out, — 

“ Bring it along!” 

But Fenton was not unprepared. He knew 
that he was no favorite with Heyward, and had 
never been deceived by any of his blandishments 


36 


WHY? 


toward himself. As the party came into his room 
to-night he noticed a peculiar glitter in the eyes 
of Heyward; and he had been watching them all. 
He saw a bottle and a glass pulled from a pocket 
at the call of the leader. But before Heyward 
could tighten his arm about the neck of his 
intended victim, Fenton was upon his feet, con- 
fronting them. And there came a look into his 
eyes that for a moment quailed them. 

“Stand off! Don’t bring that stuff to me!” 
he said. 

“It is useless for you to refuse now,” said 
Heyward. “We bought this for you, and intend 
to compel you to drink it. You may now as 
well do it quietly.” 

And he pressed the glass of brandy into the 
hand of Fenton. The glass was taken, for 
Fenton had a use for it. And then, in a tone 
that made them pause again, he exclaimed, — 

“Do you claim to be gentlemen, and come here 
to commit this outrage ? Intend to compel me 
to drink that liquid fire, do you? I assure you 
that it will never be done ! ” 

“ Ah, ha ! Never be done ! ” laughed Heyward 
mockingly, as he again sprang at Fenton, telling 
the others to hold him. 

At that moment the glass of brandy flew from 
Fenton’s hand, — whirled across the room, — 


STEPPING INTO MANHOOD. 


37 


crashed through the window, and fell upon the 
pavement below. 

This was an unexpected part of the “hazing.” 
If the noise down there aroused the college 
authorities, there would be some investigation. 
If all the facts were known the results might 
be serious to Heyward and his associates. Would 
Fenton divulge the facts ? Heyward was not 
quite sure. But with his usual self-complaisance 
he thought he could smooth it all over by say- 
ing,— 

“Well, never mind, Fenton; it’s only a frolic. 
Give us your hand and let it pass.” 

Fenton did not give his hand. But he said, 
gravely, — 

“I have sufficient reasons for discarding for- 
ever all intoxicating drinks. I shall retain no ill 
will towards any of you. I only wish you 
would all choose to walk in the safe path of 
moral rectitude. George Heyward! you should 
be one of God’s noblemen.” 

Heyward and his party were too much sobered 
by fear of consequences to reply, and left the 
room in silence. There were inquiries made as 
to the cause of the disturbance, but nothing was 
elicited. The janitor repaired the window, and 
Fenton paid the expense. College life was more 
quiet after this. Robert Fenton and George 


38 


WHY?” 


Heyward had only a distant bow for each other 
when they met. And both of them long remem- 
bered this episode of their college days. Hey- 
ward could not soon forget the unexpected arous- 
ing of the quiet, religious student he had thought 
to overpower so easily. Nor were those words 
forgotten, — “You should be one of God’s noble- 
men.” But the memory only served to irritate 
him. 

And from this night there were some new 
thoughts revolving in the mind of Robert Fenton, 
as he saw so many young men rushing into the 
same dark way in which his own father went 
to ruin. And as there came to him a vision 
of the thousands of families suffering as his own 
had suffered, through his father’s degradation, a 
low voice seemed calling upon him to do some- 
thing for them. But what? And how should 
it be done? 



IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE. 


39 


IV. 


ruciLlc 


“The finest gold in which, is greatest worth, 
Was only made through fiery ordeals bright.” 


f HE college commencement came again, and 
closed with honor to Robert Fenton, and 
to the satisfaction of Doctor Harland. They re- 
turned to Weston together. But Robert remained 
at home but a short time. Somehow, there was 
a restlessness upon him, unusual for him. Was it 
only the reaction from the excitement of those 
last days at Yale ? He could not tell. But he 
certainly was mystified in regard to Emma Dud- 
ley. Since their engagement there had been a 
constant and frank interchange of letters between 
them, until recently. For a year Emma had been 
away from Weston, attending school. And for 
the last three months Robert had received scarce 
a line from her. “ It must be the pressure of her 
studies,” thought her unsuspicious lover. And he 
was glad to remember that this was her last 


40 


WHY? 


term at school ; and the long absence would be 
at an end. 

Robert had at last decided to become a physi- 
cian and remain with his friend, Doctor Harland. 
And now he allowed himself to indulge in the 
near prospect of having a home of his own, 
with Emma as his wife. Yet, notwithstanding 
Robert Fenton’s hopefulness, there was an unde- 
fined restlessness about him. Doctor Harland 
saw it and sent him off to Chicago upon some 
business for himself. He was gone four weeks. 
But his mind was not diverted nor refreshed. No 
reply had come to him from Emma. He was 
anxious and worried. But there must be some 
tidings awaiting him in Weston, he thought, as 
he hastened his return. And indeed there was, 
— a letter from Emma, which she sent by the 
hand of her brother. 

Robert carried the. -welcome missive to his 
own room, and opened it eagerly. It was brief 
and strange : — 

“Mr. Fenton, — Will you please release me from 
my engagement to you? I thought I loved you — but 
my affections are given to another. I know that you 
are kind and honorable, and will not wish to retain 
possession of my hand without my heart. Please 
reply very soon. 


“ Emma Dudley.” 


IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE. 


41 


What is it that keeps the soul, when some 
whirlwind of sorrow sweeps through all of its 
pleasant bowers and carries away all that was 
lovely ? Nothing within itself, surely ! And woe 
and ruin be to the soul in such a crisis, if it 
has no refuge and no helper in God ! For 
lack of this only efficient refuge thousands of 
men and women make complete shipwreck of 
their whole being. Never did a sorrow come 
to any heart more like a dark whirlwind from 
out a cloudless sky, than did this letter to Robert 
Fenton, from his promised wife ! He had thought 
she was so good and true! She had given to 
him the love of a young, pure heart ! And he 
loved her so ! Now she asks him to give her 
up to another! It was so unexpected, so strange, 
so bitter, that Robert could not take in all of 
its meaning at once. A feeling of being 
stunned was upon him, and for a time the 
only thing that he could realize was this, — that 
the woman he loved now asked him to do 
something that would contribute to her happi- 
ness ? Could he refuse to do it ? No ! For 
the loyalty of his most loyal heart would never 
deny to her any request she could make ! 
Nothing, unless it was a wrong. And Emma 
Dudley — his Emma — would do no wrong! 
Whether this was a wrong being done to him- 


42 


WHY? 


self, Robert Fenton did not now even think. 
His only thought was, that for the sake of her 
own happiness, Emma wished him to release 
her from her promise to himself. And was not 
her happiness dearer to him than his own ? 
Had he not pledged himself to consult her 
comfort before he did his own, for all of life? 
Should he hesitate, then, to give what she had 
now asked of him ? No ! And so there was 
no delay. The next mail carried his brief and 
kind reply to Emma Dudley: — 

“My Only Loved One, — 

“ Your happiness, my Emma, is of more value 
to me than my own ! If some other man can make 
you happy beyond the possibility of my doing so, I 
give you up ! 

“Robert Fenton.” 

When this message had been sent, Robert 
began to think of himself. What . was the 
meaning of all this ? His dream of love and 
of a home life had been so bright, and pure, 
and sure ! Could anything of earth have seemed 
more sure? And was there no truth, or real 
worth, in woman? And in love? Yes. Robert 
knew, in himself, that there is a true, real 
love. And he could not remember his mother 
without believing in the reality of a true 


IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE. 


43 


womanhood. Had he not regarded Emma Dud- 
ley as the perfection of all womanhood ? He 
must still think so. He loved her ; he would 
love her always. 

Some days went by, and Robert Fenton was 
still in a dazed state of mind. He knew not 
what to think of himself. He had the feeling 
that something bright and beautiful was taken 
out of his life forever, but he had no keen 
sorrow over the thought. Was it because he 
thought he had given his Emma to a happi- 
ness, greater than he would have made for her 
himself ? Perhaps so. Some souls are capable 
of an abnegation like this. But only when the 
All-Power of the Divine P"riend teaches and 
upholds them. Robert Fenton was upheld by 

that Power, as the great Refiner gently led 

him into a still more fiery crucible ! 

One morning a lady came into Doctor Harland’s 
office, to get some simple medicine. Robert was 
alone, and had not attended much to dealing out 
medicines, but he could prepare this, and as he 
gave it to her, she remarked carelessly, — 

“It seems that Emma Dudley is to be mar- 
ried to Esquire Heyward, of York, instead of 

to you, Mr. Fenton?” 

“ Heyward ? Did you say Heyward, Mrs. 
Miles?” 


44 


“ WHY? 


“Yes, George Heyward. He was in your 
class at Yale College.” 

Robert controlled himself, until he could get 
away to his own room./ Then he had to meet 
the reality of the fact, — his Emma was to become 
the wife of George Heyward ! This news was 
even more like a desolating whirlwind than 
Emma’s letter ; but he must meet it in all of 
its fury. The hope that he was really promo- 
ting the happiness of the woman he loved, had 

wonderfully helped Robert in giving her up. 
But the comfort this hope had been to him 

was now taken away. He knew that Heyward 

was a brilliant man in society, and a favored 
one with ladies ; but he was, in every way, 
unworthy of Emma Dudley. And how could 
her own refined, pure nature be happy long as 
his wife ? Oh ! he could not give her up to 
George Heyward ! But he had relinquished all 
claims upon her, himself, and could do nothing 
now to prevent the marriage. A storm of grief 
and rebellion, more fierce than that of his boy- 
hood over the death of his mother, swept 
through the whole being of Robert Fenton. 
The doubts and questionings of that long ago 
evening in Marlow now came rushing into his 
mind, — 

“ If God is indeed so good, why does He 


IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE . 


45 


allow such sorrows, such wrongs, such injustice? 
If IJe has all power, why does He permit the 
wicked to flourish, and to have their own way 
so often in this life? And why must they who 
try to serve Him, have so often their dearest 
earthly hopes blasted ? ” 

For a day and a night a fierce conflict raged 
within the soul of Robert Fenton. But the low 
voice of the Refiner replied to his soul : — 
“God is good, just, holy! What thou knowest 
not now, thou shalt know hereafter ! ” 

Robert Fenton knew what prayer was. He 
had learned to trust in God, as his Father and 
Saviour. But he was now struggling in a cruci- 
ble, in which, through a strong man’s agony, the 
dross would be purified from the fine gold. 

In this crucible, wounded self-love and an un- 
submissive will must be consumed. 

“ To think that George Heyward should win 
from me my affianced wife ! That I should be 
compelled to yield her up to him ! It must 
not be so ! I cannot have it ! Oh ! Father in 
Heaven, why must I suffer so, in the sweetest 
joys of life? My mother so soon taken away, 
and now my promised wife lost in this manner! 
Oh ! why must this come to me ? ” 

A day and a night this hard conflict went on. 
Then Robert Fenton yielded his own will to the 


46 


WHY? 


will of the Heavenly Refiner, and now the spirit 
of his prayer was, “Yes, my Father, Thy will 
be done! Thou art altogether good and kind. I 
trust Thee. Thou knowest what is best for me, 
and for Emma. Perhaps, in some way, she will 
serve Thee best as the wife of George Heyward. 
Perhaps she is to lead him to a knowledge of 
Thyself. Let Thy will be done with us all. I 
give myself up to Thee, to serve Thee in any 
way. Thou wilt lead and help me!” 

The conflict was ended now, and a great peace 
of soul came to Robert Fenton. 

But his pale face alarmed Doctor Harland. 

“Why, Robbie, what is the trouble?” 

And Robert could but confide to his good 
friend the story of his disappointment. Doctor 
Harland was indignant, and exclaimed, — 

“The hussy! How could she desert you, for 
any man ! ” 

“Do not blame Emma; it must be God’s will, 
and best as it is.” 

“ Well, well, my boy, we will not talk of her ; 
let it all go. She will live to regret her choice. 
But I cannot have you looking that way. Come, 
I tell you what we will do. I need rest ; wife 
wants to go to Europe ; we will all go together ; 
we will go to England first. Over there by the 
lakes of Windermere, or among the hills of Scot- 


IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE. 


47 


land, you and I will be like two boys chasing 
butterflies until you are yourself again. Then we 
will go over to Germany, and you may attend 
medical lectures awhile.” 

Robert felt in himself the need of mental rest, 
and some change of circumstances. Just now, 
the thought of being borne upon the ocean’s 
ever-tossing waves seemed a welcome change. 
And amid the solitude of that world of waters 
he would come nearer to God and rest ! So 
Robert assented to the doctor’s suggestion, and 
immediate preparations were made for the trip. 

But Robert could not leave Weston and Amer- 
ica without seeing Emma Dudley. They had not 
met since their broken engagement. But he 
must see her face once more. The evening pre- 
vious to leaving for Europe, Robert called at her 
home. He did not intend to speak of his love, 
but he could not control all expression of it as 
he again looked upon that face so dear to him, 
his own once ! And so like the face of his 
mother! Could he keep the gentle pathos out of 
his voice as he said, — 

“My Emma! I must call you mine once more! 
But I do not come now to recall anything of our 
past joys or hopes. I come to look into your 
face once more. I could not be denied this. To- 
morrow I leave for Europe. I may never return. 


48 


WHY!” 


There is no censure in my heart for you; there 
is no feeling, only the true love I so surely gave 
to you, and which cannot die ! I leave with you 
my best wishes, and the assurance that I shall 
ever pray that God will shield you, in all of your 
life. But Emma, my own darling one ! Allow 
me to be to you the true friend that I am, in 
this time of our last meeting, and permit me to 
plead with you, not to trust yourself to a man 
like George Heyward ! I know him well, for we 
were classmates at Yale. I certainly am not 
saying this in any hope of winning you back to 
myself. That cannot be ! But my sole desire is 
for your own welfare, which is very dear to me ! 
And by the memory of my own precious mother, 
I pray that you may be shielded from trials that 
laid her in an early grave ! To avoid this, do 
not marry George Heyward ! ” 

Emma Dudley had listened in evident agita- 
tion ; but, at this last appeal, she turned in 
anger away, and without a word or a look, 
even, hastened away. 

Was this the same woman to whom Robert 
Fenton had given so noble a love; — and for 
whose happiness he had been willing to sacrifice 
his own ? True, he had received help from 
Heaven to meet this trial. But he was a man 
of keenest sensibilities, and he could but suffer 


IN THE REFINING CRUCIBLE . 


49 


keenly after such an interview with the woman 
so loved, and so strangely lost ! Again the 
affairs of this earthly life seemed to Robert to 
be only a confused tangle ! No order, no har- 
mony, no wise adjustment. So, to the un- 

taught eye, in the studio of the artist, all is 
a hopeless disj ointment, in its various parts of 

a whole. But Robert Fenton will not lose his 
faith in God. And as time goes on, he will 
learn more fully, this truth, — that God holds 
within His own hand, the clue to all affairs of 
earth, and nothing can elude His kind and 
wise inspection. Robert will find, too, that it 
is not in the bright path of earthly success 

and joy, that man’s best good is wrought out. 
There are many ways in which God molds and 
fashions souls for His service on earth, and for 
the perfect life in Heaven. 

A rough block of marble may lie forever in 
a garden of rare flowers, and never become 
anything but the same unsightly stone. But 
the skilful and severe use of a hammer and 

chisel, in the hands of the sculptor, unfolds a 
life-like form, of exquisite beauty. So it is, in 
the dispensations of the Divine Sculptor. 


50 


“ WHY ? 


V. 


Ii) • eTl per 5 • ^ 


cars. 


“One summer eve, with pensive thought, 

I wandered on the sea-beat shore.” 

TpT YOUNG voice was singing “ Shells of 
)/#l Ocean,” and as the sweet refrain came to 
me, wafted upon the evening air, I laid my book 
aside, to listen to the favorite melody. 

It was my cousin Idnella singing. There had 
ever been a wonderful charm in her voice, to 
me, since we first met, in early childhood. And 
this evening it was especially restful. 

My own parents died while I was an infant, 
leaving me in surroundings that chilled my young 
heart, making me a timid child, shrinking ever 
from meeting with other children. But when 
my . mother’s only sister, Emma Heyward, re- 
ceived me into her care and for the first time 
I saw my cousin Idnella, I was irresistibly drawn 
towards her. And the little one, — after a few 
moments of wondering gaze into my stranger 


in After fears. 


5i 


face, — held out her arms, and sprang to meet 
me. From that hour we were as sisters, in 
the loving care of my aunt. What a happy 
child I became ! — always happy as the years went 
on, only when my orphan-heart mourned the loss 
of my own parents. At those times it was my 
cousin who seemed to understand best my un- 
spoken feelings. And she always comforted me. 
Indeed, in those years nothing could soothe me 
so soon as her sweet voice in singing, and her 
merry, ringing laugh. 

It was evident, in childhood, that Idnella was 
unusually sensitive. Maturing girlhood developed 
this more fully ; and with this, the intuitive power 
of feeling the sorrows of others, and giving to 
them efficient sympathy. This power, in its truest 
form, is one of woman’s holiest missions. 

With my cousin Idnella there was a quick 
response to all that was sad or joyful. Ah ! 
this keen sensibility enfolded that fearful endow- 
ment for woman, — the capacity for intense hap- 
piness and intense suffering. 

But nothing of sorrow came to my cousin, 
and nothing to interrupt our home enjoyments, 
until I was sixteen years old, and Idnella was 
two years younger. At that time it was thought 
best that I should attend school away from Wes- 
ton. 


52 


WHY?” 


For three years I had been at home only 
during my vacations. My last term of absence 
had been a longer one than usual ; and at my 
return I was received with a glad welcome. Id- 
nella, especially, met me with every expression 
of joy. 

“Oh! I am so glad, Edith! — so very glad 
that you have come at last ! How could you 
stay away so long ? ” 

“ Ah ! little could she know how I had longed 
to be with her again, nestling under the pro- 
tecting love of mother at home.” 

Yet somehow the old-time pleasures were not 
easily renewed ; and the former happiness did not 
seem to pervade the home atmosphere. 

My Aunt Emma was indeed the same loving 
mother ; but I could see the shadow of some sor- 
row, and the too evident traces of a severe strug- 
gle upon her usually placid face. 

Idnella was the same sweet cousin, with her 
cver-ready response to all calls upon her kind- 
ness and love. But in some way a sad change 
had come over her. She was not, as formerly, 
the sunshine of the house. The ringing laugh 
and the singing were not heard ; and I noticed 
that her lips often trembled, between smiles and 
tears. But most often the tears came and chased 
the smile away. 


IN AFTER YEARS. 


53 


“ What is it, Idnella?” I said, a few days after 
my return. 

“ What is what, Edith ? ” 

“Why, — what is the matter with our singing 
bird ? I have not heard you sing one note 

^ since I came home. Are you not glad to have 
me come ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, you darling sister! I am more 
glad than I can tell you. Oh, I have needed 
you so much — so much!” 

This last was said in a tone of deeper sad- 
ness than I could have thought possible from 
Cousin Idnella. But in a moment she added, 
“ I will sing again sometime, but I cannot 

now.” 

It was near the close of this same day, that 
I heard her singing the song we often sang 

together. Idnella was now sitting just within the 

door of the wide front hall. The woodbine and 
honeysuckle covered with their thick foliage the 
trellis about the door, and made a pretty frame 
for her, as she sat in the old-fashioned rocking- 
chair, rocking and singing. This had been a 
favorite amusement with Idnella even from baby- 
hood. Often she had given expression to some 
joy, or soothed some grief away, in rocking and 
singing. 

“ Is she doing this now ? ” I thought, as from 


54 


WHY? 


my seat, behind the white lilac, I watched her 
unobserved. 

It was a pleasant evening in June ; and the 
prospect spread out before us was one of rare 
beauty. Our home was situated upon a com- 
manding eminence, from which was seen a wide 
landscape. Farm-houses and meadows, wood- 
crowned hills and lovely valleys, the village of 
Weston at the foot of the hill, and the church 
spire rising up from among the embowering 
trees. Through an opening in the hills we 
had a glimpse of the Connecticut River. Then 
hills rising behind hills ; and beyond and above 
them all, in the blue distance, towered the 
mountains of Vermont. The sun lingered low 
in the western sky ; and clouds of crimson, 
white, purple, and golden hue, were gathering 
to crown his sinking behind that far-off moun- 
tain peak. 

For a time I was wholly absorbed in watching 
the beautiful panorama of the changing clouds 
and sunset. Then I turned to Idnella to receive, 
as I had ever done before, her joyous sympathy 
in the lovely scene. But I saw at once that 
she had not even seen it. She was not singing 
now ; but in silence sat with her face turned to 
the Eastern hills, above which the full moon 
was rising in cloudless splendor. There was a 


IN AFTER YEARS. 


55 


beauty in that scene, but not so joyous as in 
the golden sunset. 

And why does my glad-hearted cousin turn 
away from the one to the other to-night ? I 
must know. I went to her, knelt by her side, 
and laid my face to her own. Then I found 
that she was silently weeping. So, I only whis- 
pered, “ Come, darling, come with me to the 
west chamber.” And, drawing her to me, we 
went up-stairs together. 

The west chamber had been a special delight 
to Idnella and me from our childhood. It had 
such curious cupboards and drawers in its ceiled 
walls ; and a most wonderful old cabinet that 
had descended to our grandfather Dudley from 
an English ancestor. 

But most of all we loved the west window, 
from which we often watched the sunset. 

Sometimes, in our childhood days, as we saw 
the sun going behind the mountain in the bright- 
ness of crimson and golden clouds, Idnella and 
I whispered to each other, — “ Heaven must be 
over there.” 

I now led my cousin to a seat by the win- 
dow, and, folding her within my arms, said, — 

“ My darling sister, do tell me what is trou- 
bling you so. I must know ! ” 

“ Oh, Edith ! how can I tell you ? How can 


56 


WHY ? 


I ever speak of it ? It is so hard, — so cruel ! 
And I thought he was so good, — so grand ! 
And I loved him so. But I can never love him 
again ! never — never ! ” 

And then she wept and sobbed convulsively, 
as I had never seen her do before. 

What could I say or do to comfort her ? 
Nothing for a while, only to hold her very 
closely in my arms, and move my hand, with a 
loving caress, over the dear, drooping head. 

But what was the cause of this ? It could be 
no slight hurt that was now agitating this sen- 
sitive heart. What could it be ? I tried to 
fathom the mystery of her words, — 

“ I loved him so ; but I can never love him 
again ! ” 

My cousin, Idnella Heyward, had a pleasant 
home ; one of the best of mothers, and a father 
who had always seemed fond and proud of his 
only daughter. And was he not good ? I was 
compelled now to acknowledge to myself that I 
was not very well acquainted with my uncle, 
George Heyward. He was a large, portly man, 
with a dignified look and manner. I could not 
remember the time when he had been very fam- 
iliar or social in his family circle. He had al- 
ways treated me kindly, but he had never won 
the confidence of my orphan-heart. But there 


IN AFTER YEARS. 


57 


was always a peculiar tenderness in his manner 
toward Idnella. And she, with her impulsive 
nature and need of loving and being loved, had 
always clung very closely to her noble-looking 
father. 

For some years Uncle Heyward had been 
much away from home. He kept an oversight 
of the farm and home affairs. But some busi- 
ness away from home appeared to engross his 
mind. • 

During the three years I had been attending 
school away from Weston, I rarely met my un- 
cle in my vacation visits home. Once, in reply 
to my questions, Aunt Emma told me that 
Uncle Heyward was then working for his polit- 
ical party, and had some expectations of being 
elected to office himself. 

But nothing in all this gave me any clue to 
the cause of Idnella’s grief. And as I would 
not question her again at present, I could only 
try to soothe her with caressing and loving 
words. At length she fell into the deep sleep 
that often comes after exhausting nervous ex- 
citement. 

The morning after this scene I persuaded 
Idnella to go with me for a walk. We had a 
long ramble through the fields, and over the 
hills by the woodland that was so familiar from 


WHY ? 


53 


our childhood. The pure air, perfume of June 
flowers, and charm of bird-song, proved to be 
a good tonic for both of us. Idnella appeared 
more cheerful when we returned. 

At the close of the day, as we were sitting 
with Aunt Emma in the parlor, a carriage was 
heard coming rapidly up the avenue, and a loud 
voice was shouting to the horses. The voice 
was a strange one to me ; but I saw that my 
aunt and cousin* became very pale, and in the 
face of my cousin there was a look of terror. 

Soon heavy, unsteady steps were heard, and 
Uncle Heyward came into the room. But was 
that man my uncle? Surely, I had never seen 
him with that strange look and manner. 

As her father came into the room, Idnella 
sprang away like a wounded deer ; but he called 
after her as she fled up-stairs, — 

“ Here, come back! What do you run away 
for when I come ? I say, come down here ! ” 
How strangely rough he was ! 

As Idnella did not return in obedience to her 
father’s command, he turned to his wife and 
said, harshly, — 

“ Is this the way you train your girl to meet 
her father now-a-days ? ” 

My aunt replied only by her tears, and he 
went on, — 


IN AFTER YEARS. 


59 


“ Crying, are you ? Always crying, or silent 
now ! I wish to goodness I could have some 
peace when I do come home ! ” 

I had been standing in mute astonishment at 
a scene I had never witnessed before, and which 
was so unexpected. 

My uncle now turned to me. 

“Well, Edith, can you speak to me?” He 
held out his hand that I saw was trembling. 
As he bent his tall form to take my hand, his 
breath came into my face, and it was full of 
sickening whiskey. 

The mystery was solved ! I now understood 
the cause of Cousin Idnella’s sorrow. My Uncle 
Heyward had become a drunkard ! 


6o 


“ WHY t ” 


VI. 

Eirjrrjet • ]^e^^crrel’s • 

“There are youthful dreamers, 

Building castles fair, with stately stairway, 

Asking blindly 

Of the future what it cannot give.” 

— Longfellow. 

J N the evening, after Uncle Heyward was in 
the stupor of intoxication, and Cousin Idnella 
had again wept herself to sleep, Aunt Emma 
sent for me. I found her in a room which she 
had fitted up for her own especial use. It was 
a small chamber, away from all noise and intru- 
sion, and having a west window with its rest- 
ful outlook. Idnella and I had learned to know 
that when Aunt Emma went to that chamber, 
it was to be alone with the Bible and with her 
God. 

When I entered the room, my aunt was sit- 
ting by the table, with her head resting upon 
her hands. As I came to her, she held out 
one arm and drew me to a seat close beside 


EMMA BEY WARD'S STORY. 


6i 


her. Her voice was low and sad, as she began 
speaking : — 

“My dear Edith, the time has come for me 
to talk frankly with you. There are many 
things it seems necessary that I should tell you, 
yet I shrink from doing so. Indeed, I am al- 
most incapable of making the effort to-night. 
But it must be done, for there are some things 
you must know without longer delay.” 

For a moment my aunt was silent, struggling 
with her grief ; then she continued, — 

“ Since you came home this time, you have 
felt the change in our darling Idnella. To-night 
you have been shocked by seeing the change in 
your uncle. And other changes are coming to 
us, my dear, that you must be brave to meet, 
and help me to bear. 

“ Before I speak of these coming changes, I 
will tell you something of my past life. It is 
necessary for you to know about this, to help 
you to understand my present trials, and the 
situation of our family. 

“This homestead, as you know, was your Grand- 
father Dudley’s place, and my own happy home 
until I married. I will not now speak of the 
dear family group that once made this a most 
happy home. But I must say of myself, that I 
was most ambitious and self-seeking. My inti- 


62 


WHY? 


mate friends did not know how selfish and full of 
ambition I was in my girlhood. I did not see it 
myself then ; but I know now that it was so. 
I wished for, and procured when possible, all 
best things. I was fond of study, but I must 
excel or be unhappy. I sought to obtain all 
that was rare and beautiful in nature, in art, 
and in life. For my friends, I craved and in- 
tended to possess only the choicest ones of earth. 
There might have been no wrong in such aspi- 
rations, if they had not emanated from supreme 
selfishness. My own happiness was my only 
goal. Can I wonder, then, that the Divine Re- 
finer has seen a need-be for a fiery crucible ? 

“ I first met your Uncle Heyward while I was 
attending school away from Weston. He came 
to the village only for a visit, but he prolonged 
his stay. 

“ Our chance acquaintance soon became a very 
pleasant friendship. For Mr. Heyward was most 
gentlemanly in manner, intellectual, and interest- 
ing in his conversation. Marked attention from 
such a man was flattering to my pride. But 
friendship was all I cared for at first. One 
thought of anything more than this would have 
been instantly rejected by me ; for in Weston 
there was one to whom I had promised my 
hand in marriage, and I loved him. 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


63 


“ Robert Fenton came to Weston as the pro- 
ttge of Doctor Harland ; but he was away so 
constantly at school, that we never met until he 
had been some time in college. It was out 

there in our grove we met, at a gathering of 
young people. I was startled by the intense 
gaze • of a stranger young man. There was no 
rudeness in his look, but only a mournful wist- 
fulness. We were soon introduced, when Mr. 
Fenton made an earnest apology and said I 
resembled his mother so much, his eyes were 
attracted to my face. And in the after-times, 
when we had become pledged friends, Mr. Fen- 
ton often alluded to his mother, with a rever- 

ence and love that few sons cherish. 

“ I never fully understood what it was, but 
there had been some sad trouble in his home. 
Something about his father, that shadowed his 
early life and broke the heart of his mother. 

It must have been this that had helped to exalt 
his opening manhood. He certainly was worthy 
of woman’s truest confidence. I think I did give 
to him my best love. If George Heyward had 
not come to my side, appealing to my ambition, 
and luring my heart by a more brilliant posi- 
tion in life, I should have become the wife of 
Mr. Fenton, and with him, perhaps, have real- 
ized the home-life of my girlhood dreams. 


64 


WHY? 


“ But if I had kept my plighted word, and been 
true to Robert Fenton, I might have been so 
satisfied with an earthly love, as never to have 
been compelled to turn to God for all comfort, 
as I have done now.” 

Aunt Emma was again silent, with a far-away 
look on her face, that told of struggles and of 
triumphs in the past. 

With a sigh she resumed her story. 

“ Yes, gradually, but surely, I was won away 
from Robert Fenton, and consented to become 
the wife of Mr. Heyward. I then wrote to Mr. 
Fenton, asking to be released from my engage- 
ment to him. I understood his generous heart 
too well to have any doubt about his yielding 
to my wishes in this matter. I can never know 
what my letter was to Mr. Fenton. But his 
reply, giving to me what I asked, was very gen- 
tle, but brief. 

“ I was then at full liberty to anticipate the 
future that was so bright before me. Instead of 
being the wife of a toiling man, in a humble 
home, my position was to be one of ease and 
wealth as the wife of Esquire Heyward. 

“But when I returned to Weston, I met with 
some unexpected barriers to my anticipated joy. 
I found that all my friends considered it a great 
wrong that I had done to myself, as well as to 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


65 


Mr. Fenton, in breaking my engagement with 
him. They all knew and trusted him. Mr. Hey- 
ward was an entire stranger to them. But all 
of their inquiries about him only elicited the 
facts that he was a lawyer, — wealthy, intellec- 
tual, and social in his tastes and habits ; and 
that among his friends he did not fail to take his 
glass of brandy. This alarmed all of my home 
friends. But they reasoned and expostulated with 
me in vain. I knew that Mr. Heyward did use 
wine and brandy ; but this did not trouble me, 
for I was then entirely ignorant of the danger 
from such a habit. 

“ Even my wronged friend, Mr. Fenton, came 
to warn me of my danger. It was down there 
by the old arbor he found me alone, one even- 
ing. I had not seen him since our broken en- 
gagement. In my thoughtless selfishness, I had 
never dreamed of the sorrow my own incon- 
stancy might be to Mr. Fenton. But as he came 
to my side that evening, I could but see the 
impress of much suffering upon his face. Yet 
in look and manner there was only his usual 
gentle kindness during that sad interview. But, 
ah ! there was a new tone in his voice, as he 
said, — 

“‘My dear Emma, I must call you mine once 
more! But I do not come now to recall the 


66 


WHY? 


past, but only to look into your face again. 
To-morrow I go from Weston, probably never to 
return.’ 

“And then he went on to assure me that he 
should ever pray for my best welfare and hap- 
piness. But he urged me, for my own sake, 
not to commit my future into the keeping of a 
man with such habits as George Heyward. 

“While Mr. Fenton had stood by my side, 
talking, my own mind had been in a whirl of 
contending emotions, connected with the past and 
present. But at his appeal in reference to Mr. 
Heyward, pride gained control of me ; and, with- 
out giving Mr. Fenton one word, or a look 
even, I hastily withdrew the hand he had taken, 
and fled to the house and to my own room. 

“ Oh, my early, my noble, true friend ! He 
never deserved this from me. 

“ Mr. Fenton went to Europe, with Doctor 
and Mrs. Harland, soon after this. I have heard 
of him as a faithful, successful worker for God, 
but I have never seen him since that hour.” 


EMMA HE Y WARD'S STORY. 


67 


VII. 

Err)ir) 0 ; • ]T.c^iz5arel’s • §)f©pjTj • ©o^firjuecl. 

“By the fireside, tragedies are acted, 

In whose scenes appear two actors only, — 

Wife and husband.” 

— Longfellow . 

A UNT Emma remained now so long silent, 
that I began to think she would not re- 
sume her story. At last she said, — 

“ But I must hasten on. After a time my 
friends allowed me to go on in the path of my 
own choosing. I was married, and immediately 
went to my husband's home. It was a beautiful 
one, and for a time it seemed a very Eden of 
happiness. 

“My first sorrow came when my babe died at 
its birth, in the beginning of the second year 
of my marriage. But for some time previous to 
this, a shadow had come over my Eden. I 
could not understand from whence it came. Our 
home was still full of every luxury, — still bright 
and beautiful. Many friends gathered about us. 
My husband was the same brilliant, intellectual 


68 


“ WHY? 


man in society. Oh, how proud I was to be 
the wife of such a man ! How I exulted when 
I saw him the attractive centre at fashionable 
gatherings ! I know, now, that my girlish heart 
was first lured from its allegiance to Robert 
Fenton by this very commanding fascination in 
Mr. Heyward. To become his wife dazzled my 
imagination. But as my husband, I gave to him 
my love as a wife. And now, I was clinging 
very fondly to him, trying to find all my hap- 
piness in him. But I surely felt the chill of 
some cloud lowering near me. 

“ Our home was not far from the city, yet 
my husband was often detained away for days 
at a time. He always expressed much regret at 
being compelled to be so long absent. The sec- 
ond year of our marriage these detentions be- 
came more frequent and more protracted. 

“At Christmas, that year, we were invited to 
attend a social gathering. When my husband 
was leaving for the city, on the morning of 
this day, he said to me : ‘I may not get away 
very early; you must not wait for me. But I 
will certainly be there to accompany you home.’ 

“I went alone, in the carriage. It was a large 
and brilliant gathering of our most aristocratic 
acquaintances, and the entertainment was varied 
to suit the different guests. I was especially de- 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


69 


lighted with the singing and music, and was in 
the full enjoyment of a gem of rare sweetness, 
when my husband came into the room. He 
did not come to me, but from where I was 
standing I saw there was in his face and man- 
ner something unlike his usual gentlemanly self- 
possession. My thought was that some business 
must have disturbed him greatly. 

“ Soon I heard his voice, in a loud and bois- 
terous tone, in a distant part of the room. 
Then, in a moment, a low voice near me spoke 
words not intended for my ear, but which came 
to me distinctly, — 

Esquire Heyward has dipped into his brandy 
cups rather too much to-night, to be out in com- 
pany.’ 

“ These words were like an electric-shock to 
me. I turned quickly, and looked more closely 
at my husband. His face was fearfully flushed, 
and his whole appearance in a disorder I had 
never seen in him before. At that moment he 
was standing in a group of gay young ladies, who 
watched him with ill-suppressed mirth, or with 
contempt, as he tried to talk with them and give 
expression to some unmeaning compliments. 

“ I could not mistake or be blinded now ; my 
husband was intoxicated ! He, who always before 
had been the self-poised gentleman, and the cen- 


7 o 


WHY ? 


tre of intellectual and admiring friends in society, 
was now making of himself an object of sport 
by his drunken foolishness ! 

“ Shame and terror paralyzed my own facul- 
ties ; but a true friend came to my aid, and 
through his efforts my husband was persuaded 
to return home. 

“ When we entered our own luxurious parlor, 
my husband fell upon the sofa. The friend who 
had accompanied us home could do nothing more 
for us ; nothing for my now unconscious hus- 
band, and nothing to comfort me, so he left us. 
And I was alone ; oh ! never so alone in all 
my life before ! 

“Ah! of all the agony that woman’s heart is 
capable of suffering, nothing is so bitter as when 
she finds that her most trusted, her best loved 
friend, is unworthy, — that her idol is only clay! 

“ Oh ! indeed could that senseless inebriate be 
my husband, — my handsome, noble husband, of 
whom I had been so proud ? My husband a 
drunkard ! From the whispered remark I over- 
heard at the party, I knew this was what the 
world called him now. Oh ! the feeling of humil- 
iation that rushed over me like heavy waves! 

“ For a time it certainly seemed that my life- 
blood was frozen, and I could never remove 
from my kneeling posture by the side of my 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


7 * 


husband. With my hands clasped over my heart 
I silently looked upon his changed face. Yes, 
in that strange sleep I could see now the chan- 
ges that dissipation had wrought. 

“ Would such scenes as this go on, and on, 
in our home, through life? So — I had heard — 
it was in many once happy homes. Would it 

be so in mine ? 

“Then I remembered the fears of my friends 
about my marriage, and especially the earnest 
warning of my noble friend, Robert Fenton. As 
the old memories came back to me, the hard 
tension that had pressed upon my heart re- 

laxed, tears came to my relief, and I wept as I 
had never in my life before. 

“At last there came to me more cheering and 
hopeful thoughts. ‘This will not, cannot happen 

again ! When my husband comes to realize the 

events of this night, he will feel so alarmed 
himself that he will never use stimulants again. 
I believe he loves me, and by that love I will 
plead with him to throw it all away. Oh ! I 
must win him from this terrible ruin ! ’ 

“But even while I was saying this to my 
heart, there came to me a foreboding fear that 
even my pleading, or tears, or love, might fail, 
or have little effect in overcoming habits which 
I now felt sure must be of long standing. 


72 


why? 


“There came to me a new element of dis- 
tress, in a flood of self-reproach, as I remem- 
bered my own unfaithfulness as a professed 
Christian. I knew that Mr. Heyward was far 
from being a Christian man, when I promised 
to become his wife. But I indulged the pleas- 
ant day-dream, that I could win him to go with 
me in all of those duties, when we were mar- 
ried. Instead of doing that, I had readily 
yielded to his influence, and gone willingly with 
him into all the paths of worldly pleasure. 

“And more than this. For step by step he 
had led me away from all the sacred associa- 
tions of my girlhood life, until I had become 
almost willing to give up my Bible and my be- 
lief in God. I had not realized this before, nor 
thought how far away I had wandered from my 
faith in God. But in this night of intense suf- 
fering I saw it all. I had been untrue to my 
own soul and to God. Now, through a bitter 
trial, he was showing to me where I stood, and 
teaching me that an immortal soul can have 
permanent happiness only in Himself. 

“In deep repentance I now returned, to Him; 
and, like a weary, lost child, I again trusted in 
His infinite mercy and love. 

“In tears, in prayer, and in renewed hope in 
God, I spent that long, long night. 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


73 


VIII. 

En^rrjet • jT.cj'y^ard’s • §)fopyj • (Eor)fir)ucd. 

“ Madness and woe in the wine cup.” 

J T was morning, and the sun filled the room 
with cheering brightness, when my husband 
aroused from his sleep. Starting up, he ex- 
claimed, — 

“‘Why, Emma, what is the matter? Are you 
sick ? Why are you here ? * 

“To these questions I could not control my 
voice enough to reply. He came to me, passing 
his hand caressingly over my head, and look- 
ing down into my face, and said, — 

“‘You certainly are sick, wife! Come, let 
me take you to your room.’ 

“That long, sad night had wrought too strongly 
upon my nerves to allow me to make my 
appeal wisely, and impulsively I said, — 

“ ‘ Oh ! my husband, have you no remembrance 
of the past night ? A night of agony to me ! 
My darling, do promise me now, that you will 
never drink any stimulants again ! ’ 


74 


why? 


“A look unlike any I had seen before, came 
into my husband’s face, as he said, — 

“ ‘ Ah ! that ’s it, is it ? I was drunk last night, 
was I ? Well, it is not the first time, by any 
means. But I am sorry it happened so. I did 
not intend to be out in company in that con- 
dition — nor trouble you about it. But meeting 
an old friend, just as I was leaving the city, I 
took some extra brandy with him. I have never 
troubled you with this before, Emma, and 
I will not again, if I can help it ; but do not 
ask me to give up the use of stimulants, — for 
I never will do so ! I am surprised that you 
ask me to do it. You knew when you married 
me that I drank wine and brandy. I have 
used them too long to give them up, and 
shall never make any effort to do so.’ 

“ I was now weeping again in bitter disap- 
pointment ; and my husband tried to soothe me 
by caresses and a kinder tone. 

“ ‘ Don’t weep and make yourself unhappy 
over this. You know that my love for you, 
and regard for your comfort, have made me 
keep all this out of our home and away from 
your knowledge. You will understand the truth 
now about some of my long absences from 
home. But do not let it make you unhappy. 
I shall be all right when I return to you. 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


75 


We have been happy together ; we will still 
be^ happy in our home. But you must let me 
alone in this, for I will not allow any one — 
not even my wife — to interfere in this matter!’ 

“My girlhood dreams of the future had been 
bright and beautiful ! God was leading me to 
find happiness only in Him. 

“I must not linger, only to say I never again 
found any heart-rest in my beautiful home, or 
my husband. Between us there was no longer 
the loving interchange of confidence. How could 
there be ? He knew that my blind trust was 
gone, and he would make no effort to recall it. 

“ I was still a loving wife, and would have 
made any sacrifice for my husband’s good. But 
I was powerless to combat his strong will, and 
ceased to plead or to remonstrate with him. 
I was helpless in a crucible of disappointment 
and ruined hopes. No! not helpless, — for He 
who was taking me through the Furnace of 
Affliction, is a strong Helper! He kept me from 
sinking then ! He has never left me ! 

“My husband did not come to me again in- 
toxicated ; but as months went on, I could see 
that he was changing, sinking more surely 
under the influence of his drinking habits. In 
addition to this, I began to find out that my 
husband’s financial affairs were greatly embar- 


;6 


WHY? 


rassed. At times, when his brain was confused 
by brandy, he had entered into unwise business 
transactions. At other times he had plunged 
into* some wild speculation, finally into gam- 
bling. Gradually, but surely, he lost, until his 
large fortune and his extensive business were 
swept away ! 

“Five years after our marriage, we were com- 
pelled to give up our lovely home to others. 

“ Both of my parents were dead. This place 
was my portion from my father’s estate, and to 
this home my husband brought me six months 
before our Idnella came to us. 

“My grief over the intemperance of my hus- 
band, was very great. I left the home to 
which I went so happy as a bride, with very 
little regret. 

“ When I entered this dear old home again, 
a feeling of being shielded, seemed to come 
over me. Its quiet, its associations, and home- 
love atmosphere, welcomed me with their sweet 
restfulness ! 

“ If my husband had remained even as he 
had been in the months previous} I might have 
attained to some quiet happiness in this home 
of my early life ; but the loss of his wealth, 
and the failure of all his schemes, caused him 
to throw off all restraint. He became reckless 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


77 


and drank incessantly. He came home every 
day intoxicated. 

‘‘For a time I watched his coming, in the 
hcpe that he would return to me in his right 
mind. Then I began to dread his coming, — 
trembling in a fever of hope and fear ! If I 

could have restored my husband to his own 

rightful self, I would willingly have suffered 
much at that time ; but a change came in my 
feelings towards him. Gradually, but surely, my 
heart became full of a feeling of contempt, of 
repulsion, and of hate towards my husband. 
His bloated, red face, staggering form, and 

silly efforts to talk, seemed such a burlesque 
upon humanity, and in him so needless, that 
at length I loathed the sight of him, or the 

sound of his voice ! I could not help it ! And 
when he entered the house my feelings com- 
pelled me to fly to the most distant room, 
away from him ! 

“This was a fearful state of mind for, me to 
remain in. I could go to no one. I was alone 
with God, and He did not fail me. 

“ An old friend of my mother’s had been 
watching me, and understood how it was. Her 
motherly heart prompted her to come to my 
aid. She went to my husband in one of his 
calm moments, and said, — 


78 


WHY? 


“‘ Esquire Heyward, do not be offended with 
me, for I come as a true friend.’ 

“‘Well, Aunt Polly, what is it?’ 

“‘I want to say to you, that if there is not 
an immediate change in your home, your child, 
if it should live, will never speak to you.’ 

“‘What do you mean, madam?’ 

“‘I mean just what I have said. And you 
may ask any doctor in the land if my words 
are not true. You have yourself so wrought 
upon the feelings of your wife by your drink- 
ing habits, that she will not see you, nor 
speak to you, if she can avoid it. It will be 
just so with your child unless you change, and 
that very soon.’ 

“My husband had not so entirely lost his 
manhood as to be indifferent to such an appeal. 
The plain, motherly talk had the desired effect. 
He was startled and aroused, and by this 
means his strong will asserted itself in the 
right direction. All that could intoxicate was 
banished from our home. My husband was once 
more the quiet gentleman when he came into 
my presence. 

“My storms seemed to have passed by, and 
I was sheltered within a quiet haven, when my 
darling Idnella was given to me! 

“My husband has always manifested a proud 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


79 


fondness for his daughter. But there has ever 
been a wistful gentleness in his manner toward 
her, as if he had some fears about having his 
full share of her love, or of not being able to 
retain it. 

“ For many years all use of stimulants seemed 
to be given up, but I know now that the habit 
was never fully abandoned. He resumed his 
business in the city, and after a time there 
were again long absences from home, which, he 
said, the press of business required. When he 
came to us he was always the quiet, kind, but 
not very social man, that you, my Edith, are 
most familiar with. 

“ Though I had long been fearful about my 
husband’s habits, I saw nothing to give me 

special alarm until two years ago. An exciting 
Presidential campaign was in progress, and my 
husband was drawn into the conflict. He had 

some talent as a speaker, and gave his services 
to his party, his political friends promising him 
some office for himself. All of this led him 
deeper into the old dissipation, but when indul- 
ging he still kept away from home. To his 

daughter he appeared to be the noble man and 

kind father, and Idnella loved him with the 
strength of her most loving nature. 

“Ah! I am sure now that my own trials, ^ 


So 


WHY? 


previous to her birth, have given to my daughter 
a heart-hunger for love that will never be satis- 
fied this side of Heaven. 

“It is not a year since Idnella first learned 
about the drinking habits of her father. His po- 
litical schemes failed, and his friends did not give 
him the office they promised. This exasperated 
him, and again he threw off every barrier of 
self-control, and returned to his wife and 
daughter deeply intoxicated. Idnella could not 
understand his condition, but thought her father 
strangely sick, and anxiously ministered to him. 
But as this sickness came day after day, and 
she learned the cause of it, the change in her 
manner toward him was most sad. There was 
in Idnella the same trembling at the sound of 
his coming footstep, the same disgust and avoid- 
ance I so well remember in myself. 

“ ‘ I cannot help it, mamma,’ she often says to 
me, in bitter weeping. 

“If her father had never transformed himself 
again into a staggering, driveling inebriate, this 
feeling would never have been developed in his 
loving child; but the evil has been wrought out, 
the fearful wrong to my precious daughter is 
accomplished. Oh ! can it ever be undone ? ” 

For a few moments the mother’s lips quivered 
in a silent struggle, and then she went on, — 


EMMA HEYWARD'S STORY. 


8l 


“ My own heart has been in a severe conflict 
for the last six months. My husband sinking 
into a confirmed drunkard, Idnella grieving, and 
changing, and losing all control of herself. And 
I — what could I do, only to go to that Friend 
who has been my sure Helper in past trials ? 
He does sustain me, though His leading will 
soon place my mother-heart in a new and fiery 
crucible. 

“ Our family physician says Idnella must be 
removed entirely away from her father. This 
involves the necessity of her going away from 
home and from her mother. 

“My brother, your Uncle William, wishes to 
take Idnella with his family when they return 
to their home in California. I have consented to 
this arrangement. 

“ Do not start so, dear Edith ; you must be 
here and help me to meet this trial. 

“ Oh ! my heart would faint in this crucible 
if God did not permit me to hope that this 
separation from Idnella may not be a long one. 
My brother promises to return her to us as 
soon as it seems best. 

“He thinks, however, that my husband is now 
too confirmed in his habits ever to reform, and 
has been urging me to go with Idnella to his 
home, and leave my husband to his folly. My 


82 


WHY? 


views of a wife’s duty will not allow me to do 
so. I shall suffer keenly giving up my precious 
child, but I know she will be tenderly cared for 
in my brother’s home, and I am hoping she will 
return to us by another year. 

“In the meanwhile, I must remain by him to 
whom I gave my wifely promise. In his pres- 
ent condition I can have no comfort with him, 
but I will shield him from what suffering I 
can. Though he has made himself the miserable 
man that he is, yet I am his wife, and my 
place is by his side, even to the end of life. 

“If tears and prayers avail with God, and I 
know that they do, my husband will yet be 
saved.” 


NEW SNA DOWS. 


83 


IX. 


J^cW-Slja clouds. 


“ Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer, and be strong.” 

— Longfellow. 

8 URING this recital of Aunt Emma’s story, 
I had listened as if spell-bound. My heart 
was too full, and my thoughts too busy, to make 
it easy for me to break the silence that fol- 
lowed her closing words. 

I raised my head and looked into her face. 
She was very pale ; but her expression and whole 
attitude denoted high resolves and an unfalter- 
ing purpose. 

I had long known that Aunt Emma trusted in 
God, but it had never seemed such a reality as 
it did when I now looked into her white, quiet 
face. She had suffered much, — she was now in a 
crucible of keen sorrow, — and yet was so gently 
calm ! Most surely she was leaning upon a sus- 
taining Helper, who was All-Powerful. 


8 4 


why ? 


But I could no longer repress my own feelings, 
and said, — 

“ But, Aunt Emma, how can we have this so ? 
How can we live without Idnella?” 

“My dear child, we must live without her for 
a time, for her own good. Her nervous system 
is now seriously affected. Our physician says 
that he will not be responsible for any conse- 
quences that may follow if she is not taken 
entirely away from her father, at once. My own 
judgment tells me that he is right. But, oh! 
how I shall suffer in sending her away from my 
own care. And yet, woman’s heart has often to 
suffer for those she loves. And whatever good 
may come to them through her own sacrifices or 
sufferings, the true-hearted woman will not refuse 
to endure.” 

As I now looked into the pure, spiritual face 
of my aunt, I could not help the questioning, — 

“Why is it that the best in this world seem 
to have the most sorrow?” 

“ Ah ! my dear, it is only through the disci- 
pline of trials that there arc any best. Our 
sins are forgiven and blotted out by our Sav- 
iour, but no love and no life is pure until it 
has passed through His crucible, and rests 
within the hand of the Great Refiner, even our 
Divine Lord ! 


NEW SHADOWS. 


85 


“ This may seem a dark outlook to the 
young heart, but there is nothing dark or 
gloomy in it to those who can view it in the 
effulgent light of the Sun of Righteousness ! ” 

For a time I was awed into silence again by 
my aunt’s words and manner. Then I asked, — 

“ Does Idnella know about this, that she is 
to leave us ? ” 

“She only knows that she is going away for 
awhile with her uncle and his family. She 

has grieved so much, and is now in so critical 
a nervous state, that we dare not let her know 
she may not return to us, perhaps for years.” 

“And what does Uncle Heyward say about 
her going away?” 

“ He does not know about it. In his present 
frame of mind it would be useless to attempt 

to explain the situation to him, but he will 
begin to ask questions after awhile ; then, in 

some moment when he can understand its mean- 
ing, I shall tell him why his daughter is an 
exile from her father’s house. My hope is 
strong that this will startle him again into 
giving up his dreadful drinking. 

“If in some future day or years, if that must 
be so, my husband and daughter can be re- 
stored to me in health and joy, I will never 

regret anything I suffer now. 


86 


WHY / 


“ The future is hidden from us. But God 

knows it all, and it is safe with Him. 

“And now, my dear Edith, you must be my 
brave-hearted daughter, and help me to meet 
the coming trials. It is very late, I must not 
detain you longer. Only let me say this to 
you, — make my sad experience a beacon-light of 
warning for your own safety.” 

When I was again in my own room, my 
mind was in a whirl of thought and feeling. 
Ah, time cannot be measured by the length of 
days ! It seemed now so very long since the 
last evening, when I watched that golden sun- 
set ! 

I went to the west window and looked out 
into the summer night. The landscape was so 
quiet and peaceful beneath the soft light of the 
full moon ! There were the fields, hills, valleys, 
and distant mountains. The same familiar out- 
look ; yet not the same, for a change seemed 
to have come over all that had been a joy to 
me. My aunt and cousin in such trouble ! My 
own heart sharing in all their sorrow ! And 
then, — yes, I was compelled to see it, — there 
was the shadow of a possible trial falling upon 
my own bright dreams ! I had never thought 
of this danger to my own happiness, but I 
could not fail to understand the meaning of 


NEW SHADOWS. 


87 


Aunt Emma’s words, “ Let my sad experience 
be a beacon-light of warning to you.” Oh, 
how could I believe that such a sorrow as 
Aunt Emma’s was lurking in my earthly 
path ! 

When Cousin Idnella and I first entered the 
village school, I was the same timid girl as in 
my childhood ; ever shrinking from contact with 
strangers. But in a manly boy, two years older 
than myself, I soon had a champion and friend. 
Idnella and I had no brother ; but in Howard 
Fielding we found a brother-like defender, in all 
of the varied scenes of village school-life. As 
the years passed on, we had become more to 
each other than friends. 

Only the other evening we stood out there, 
beneath the old poplars, and talked of our fu- 
ture, when his medical studies should be com- 
pleted. 

My intended husband was a noble man, and 
worthy of my entire confidence. From whence, 
then, came that shadow ? Alas ! it was from 
that same dire cup that had brought such woe 
to Aunt Emma and Cousin Idnella! 

I felt sure that Howard did not use intoxi- 
cating drinks himself; yet, they were not for- 
bidden in his family. His father’s cider-brandy 
and his mother’s domestic wine were freely cir- 


88 


WHY? 


culated at the social' gatherings in their hospi- 
table mansion. 

While I was certain that Howard did not 
take stimulants himself, I knew that he had no 
decided principle against their daily use. In the 
light of Aunt Emma’s story, I was led to feel 
that in this lack of decision would lie the pos- 
sible danger Jo him and to me. 

But Howard is too true not to be willing to 
see and to do whatever ■ is best for our mutual 
happiness. 

I will talk with him immediately about this, 
and persuade him to unite with me now in a 
pledge, shutting out from our married home 
everything that can intoxicate. 

It will — O, it must be all right with Howard 
and myself ! With this thought I at last soothed 
my heart to rest. 

If I had needed any additional argument to 
convince me that Idnella must go away, I had 
it the next morning in her pale, haggard face, 
and in the manner in which she shrank from 
her father. 

The needful preparations were hastily com- 
pleted, and our darling Idnella left us. She 
went from us in tears, and with fond caressings; 
but all unconscious herself * how long the time 
might be before she could return to us. 


NEW SHADOWS. 


89 


When the parting was over, Aunt Emma 
nearly fainted, but went to her Bethel-chamber 
where she was much alone, and from which she 
she always came with a look of peace upon her 
pale face. 

After a time letters came from Uncle Wil- 
liam, giving us comforting words about Idnella. 
It was evident that she was receiving the hop$d- 
for benefit in the change of scene. 

Idnella wrote of the quiet visiting among the 
Green Mountains, of the leisurely passing through 
New York, of the steam-boat sail down the 
Ohio River, and of going out upon the wonder- 
ful prairies of Illinois. 

Afterward, they retraced their journey up the 
Ohio, and, crossing the mountains to Baltimore, 
went on to Washington. From this place Id- 
nella wrote a long letter to her mother and my- 
self. There was much of her old enthusiasm as 
she described their night-ride over the Alleghany 
Mountains. While the others slept, she was 
awake, enjoying the grand scenery, as they 
reached the highest point, and began the de- 
scent. The moon in a cloudless sky, the differ- 
ent mountain peaks rising against the blue 
heavens behind them, the opening of wooded 
valleys, and the country far below, concealed by 
a misty vapor, giving to it the look of the 


90 


“ WHY? 


boundless ocean. This letter was so full of 
glowing pictures of what she had enjoyed in 
this trip, and in going to Mount Vernon, the 
home of Washington ; and her words were so 
pervaded with her own sunny nature that it 
brought some of the sunshine into our home, 
now so silent and shadowed. 

And we began to question, — 

“ Idnella seems to be all right now. Why 
may she not return to us, instead of going on 
to California ? ” 

“ Ah ! but the cause of her trouble is not re- 
moved. As things now remain in your home 
Idnella cannot return without danger to life or 
reason.’' 

So said our kind, old doctor. 

And for how long a time must the precious 
child be gone, and the mother-heart suffer? 

No one, but God, knew ! 


SHADOWS DARKENING. 


91 


X. 




“ I knew not all ; yet something of unrest 
Sat on my heart.” 

— Hemans. 


ried 


Y vacation was closing, when I must re- 
turn to my school. But I had not car- 
out the resolution I formed the night Aunt 


Emma told me her story. I had not had my 
intended talk with Howard Fielding. Somehow, 
it had been more difficult than I expected, for 
me to open that subject to him. It was con- 
trary to my nature to assume the office of a 
mentor. And how could I do that toward my 
affianced' husband? Would it not appear like a 
want of entire confidence in him, for me to 
dictate in this matter ? And how could I look 
into his honest, frank eye, and not trust him 
fully ? 

But I could not forget Aunt Emma’s story, 
nor her sorrows, for they were constantly before 
me. In the bloated, vacant face of my Uncle, 


92 


WHY?” 


— in the traces of deep suffering upon the face 
of my aunt, — in the strange exile of my cousin, 

— I was daily reminded of the danger of 
indecision in a question like this. And before I 
was hardly conscious of doing so, I had taken 
a dirm resolve that I would never be married 
unless my intended husband would unite with 
me, in a solemn pledge, that all stimulants, as 
a drink, should be forever excluded from our 
married home. 

But how was I to begin to say this to How- 
ard ? When he was by my side all shadows 
fled away in the sunshine of his love. How 
could I bring them back ? 

Yet, when I was alone, I was in a constant 
conflict with these questionings. 

Oh ! if I could put this all away, and not 
trouble my dear friend with it ! For I began 
to feel a little uncertain of the effect of my 

resolution upon Howard. 

. After Cousin Idnella left us, he kept me al- 
most constantly by his side, as we rode by the 

river, through the valleys, and over the wind- 
swept hills of Weston. He seemed to notice an 
unusual depression in me, for he evidently made 
every effort for my comfort, with more than 
his usual tenderness of manner towards me. 

Several times Howard had taken me to his 


SHADOWS DARKENING. 


93 


home. Once his bluff, but kind old father, kept 
my hand for some moments in his own,, as if 
he wished to assure me that I now belonged 
to his family; and his mother whispered “my 
daughter ,r as she gave me a kiss of welcome. 
Oh, how my heart exulted in the thought of 
having a mother, and to be loved and shielded 
as I knew I would be in the home of Howard 
Fielding ! And could anything of earth now 
exclude me from that home ? Oh, no ! 

And so, my vacation was almost over, and 
still Howard knew nothing about my conflicts 
or my resolution. But still, I lulled my heart 
with the belief that it would * not take long to 
make it all right when I did ask him about 
this subject. His true heart would do what was 
right. 

Two days before I must leave Weston, How- 
ard carried me again to his home. In the even- 
ing, quite a .circle of friends gathered in the 
pleasant rooms. With other refreshments came 
the cider-brandy and the domestic wine. And 
then I saw how eagerly Howard drank of both, 
a weight of sadness, such as I had never felt 
before, fell upon my heart. 

After a while, Howard came to me with a 
glass of the ruby wine in his hand. 

“You are unusually silent to-night, Edith. 


94 


why? 


Come, drink some of my mother’s best wine 
with me. It will do you good ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! Howard, I cannot ! ” 

“ Cannot ! Why ? ” 

There were so many thoughts and feelings 
thronging upon my mind, threatening my self- 
control, that I dared not risk my voice, but 
I whispered earnestly, “ Do not urge me now ; 
to-morrow evening I will tell you why.” 

It must be done now ; I must tell Howard 

of my decision, and from what I have seen 
to-night what will be the result ? I dared not 
think. 

Our ride to my home was a very quiet one, 
but Howard was more than usually gentle in 
his loving care of me. 

As he was about to bid me good-night, I 

asked, — 

“Will you come to see me to-morrow even- 
ing, Howard ? ” 

“ Ah ! will I come, you demure little lady ? 
Yes, surely I will, darling, and then I shall 

want to know why you are so silent and sad 

this evening.” 

“You know I am going away soon,” I faltered 
out. 

“Yes, I know you are going away, but I know, 
too, that you are coming back again before long; 


SHADOWS DARKENING. 


95 


and as my wife there will be no more of this 
going off alone.” 

Oh! if it were not for this shadow of evil, 
how like chimes of glad music his words would 
be to my woman’s heart! 

That night was to me one of weeping and 
prayer, until some faith was given to me to trust 
in God, as my Helper. And in that faith and 
trust, strength was imparted to me to stand by 
my resolution, whatever the result might be. 

A weak, timid woman, resolving to do what 
was best, — safe for him she loved, — trusting alone 
in God. Would He fail to help her ? No ! 
never. But, ah ! in His own way are His 
designs to be accomplished. 


96 


why? 


XI. 


Edifi) • .^sljfor/s • ©rucible, 

. . . “He who sits above 

In His calm glory, will forgive the love 
His creatures bear each other 
. . . . for its close is dim 

Ever with grief, which leads the wrung soul 
Back to Him.” 

— Hemans . 


HEN Howard Fielding came to my side, the 
YY. next evening, there was a new expression 
upon his face. Was it that he saw too many 
traces of a struggle in my own face ? Or had he 
passed through some mental conflict himself, since 
we parted? I could not know, for I would not 
venture to ask him. 

He was very kind and gentle, as he sat down 
beside me. Yet there was a grave questioning 
in his eye and smile, as he said, — 

“Well, my dear Edith, are there any mysteries 
to be solved to-night? I think you hinted at 
something of the kind last evening. There must 
be no unexplained things between us, you know.” 


EDITH ASHTON'S CRUCIBLE. 


97 


Ah ! would Howard be as gently kind when 
I had told him of my trouble, and the promise 
he must give to me ? There had come a sad 
doubt into my mind, that sealed my lips for a 
time. 

And then it was so hard for me to say one 
word that might pain him, I loved him so. I 
yielded to a womanly impulse and asked, — 

“Do you love me very much, Howard?” 

“Love you, Edith? Why, what else do I love 
as I do you, my one darling ? ” 

“Then you will promise me something I 
want very much ? ” 

“ Why — my best loved one — my plighted 
wife — is there anything you can ask of me, 
that I will not give you ? Do you doubt ’me, 
Edith ? ” 

“ No, Howard, I do not. I trust you fully. 
But I have such a favor to ask of you ! ” 

“Well, my darling little mystery, let me know 
at once what this is. I see that something is 
troubling you very much, and I shall have to 
assert the authority of a physician and order 
you to throw it from your mind before it 
makes you sick.” 

While he was saying this, Howard drew my 
head to rest upon his shoulder, and passed his 
hand caressingly over my hot forehead. 


9 8 


WHY? 


Could I tell him now and meet the conflict 
that might come? My heart was again failing 
me. Then I remembered my pleading with God 
for help, the previous night. And now the 
answer came from Him, for my weak heart felt 
nerved up to go through this trying interview. 
God surely helped me, for there was no falter- 
ing now as I began, — 

“My dearest friend, you have often said that 
our united home would be the happiest that 
ever husband and wife possessed. But to be 
and to remain such a home, some things I feel 
must be excluded. One is, all stimulating 
drinks. Will you, my dear Howard, unite with 
me now in a sacred pledge that this shall be 
so in our home ? ” 

A look of strange surprise came over the 
face of Howard at my words. But he laugh- 
ingly said, — 

“ Why, has my reserved little Edith turned 
into a temperance lecturer?” 

“Only for the home-circle,” I replied, trying 
to meet his bantering tone. But I would not 
be put off in that way, and said, — 

“But, Howard, I am seriously in earnest about 
this. Will you not give me a promise now 
that we will banish stimulating drink from our 
home ? ” 


EDITH ASHTON'S CRUCIBLE. 


99 


“ And why are you so earnest about this 
now ? Wait until we begin our home together, 
then we will make it all right.” 

<‘Oh! my dear friend, I want a pledge now! 
I must have it now ! ” 

“My darling Edith, what is it that is 
troubling you so ? I do not quite understand it 
yet. Are you afraid of anything for yourself, 
or for me ? ” 

And there was a deeper tenderness in his 
voice, as he again drew my head to his broad 
shoulder, and said, — * 

“Tell me, my promised wife, can you not 
trust me to shield your happiness with me in 
our married home ? ” 

“Yes, Howard, I do trust you, but I cannot 
trust intoxicating drinks in my home. I have 
of late been taught a fearful lesson of the 
danger in using them at all.” 

And then I related to Howard the outlines 
of Aunt Emma’s story. He listened in silence 
until I had finished, and then said, — 

“This is all very sad, and I see has strongly 
affected you. But surely you are not making 
any application of this to ourselves, are you, 
Edith ? What is it that alarms you ? ” 

“ Oh ! Howard ! I am alarmed to find that 
my dearest friend, my intended husband, allows 


100 


“ WHY? 


himself to take of the same wine-cup that has 
made my Uncle Heyward the wreck of a noble 
manhood!” 

My voice had often faltered and almost failed 
me while speaking, but from some resource 
beyond my own, help came that nerved me up 
to finish. 

The silence that for some moments followed, 
was a painful one. I knew that I had wounded 
the feelings of the one dearest to me of all 
on earth. I still felt sure that as soon as his 
own generous heart had time to assert itself, 
Howard would thank me for the resolution I 
had taken, and give me willingly the pledge I 
asked for our mutual happiness. But suddenly 
Howard sprang to his feet and began to walk 
the room. After a few moments he came and 
stood by me, and said in a constrained, low 
voice, — 

“Edith, who is it that has come between us 
so, poisoning your mind against me in this 
way ?” 

“No one has come between us, Howard! No 
one can ever do that with me ! But the sor- 
rows of my aunt and cousin compel me to 
realize the full danger of using even wine as a 
drink. And do not blame me, do not be of- 
fended with me, my dearest friend, but I must 


EDITH ASHTON'S CRUCIBLE . 


IOI 


say that I have seen that you do use it as a 
drink!” 

“But, Edith, you have never seen me take 
anything but my mother’s domestic wine or 
brandy.” 

“ Howard, has not using those drinks given 
you the desire for something stronger?” 

I saw that he started, but evaded my ques- 
tion by saying, — 

“I honor and love my mother. She is too 
good herself to keep anything in her house and 
give it daily to her son, that can injure him 
or any one else. I cannot have the blame at- 
tributed to her that your words to-night imply. 
My wife must not in any way cast a reproach 
upon my mother.” 

As I remained silent, Howard continued, — 

“I understand now why you refused to take 
the wine with me last evening. I hope you 
will not do it again in my mother’s house. In 
our own home we can make such regulations 
as we think best. In my mother’s home, noth- 
ing that she offers to us need be rejected, and 
must not be again.” 

There was now a hard glitter in his eye that 
I had never seen before. But its effect upon 
me was not to quail, but rather served to nerve 
me up to continue my appeal. 


102 


WHY? 


“Well, Howard, will you not give to me now 

a promise as to how it shall be in our own 

home ?” 

“No, I cannot. At least, I am not prepared 

to do so. And I think you ought to trust me 

without any such promise. Besides, in my pro- 
fessional practice, there may be occasions when 
I may have to break it. And there is no 
necessity of its being required of me.” 

Oh, how my heart was aching ! But I could 
not stop now ; my last appeal must be made ! 

“ Dear Howard, bear with me in what I now 
must say ! All of this is a matter of life or 
death to the hope I have cherished of our 
union ! For many weeks I have been praying 
over this subject. I have been learning some 
new lessons about prayer, and trusting in God. 
It has become more of a reality, that He is my 
Father and Saviour — and my Helper. He knows 
that I love you, and you only ; and that I can 
never love another as I love you, Howard. But 
He has made it very clear to me that I must 
come to this decision : — That I will never be 
married until my intended husband gives to me 
the pledge I now ask of him ! ” 

Howard was standing by my side, and in 
my earnestness I laid my hand upon his arm. 
At my closing words he gave a quick start, 


EDITH ASHTON'S CRUCIBLE. 


103 


as if he received an electric shock, and ex- 
claimed, — 

“ Oh, no, Edith ! you do not mean that ! You 
surely cannot, for a whim, — a phantom, — break 
your plighted word to me ! ” 

“ It is no whim, no phantom, to me, my dear 
friend. It is something too real, — too full of 
sad suggestions ! ” 

“ Well, I think this evening is a black dream. 
Why must it be so, when our love has always 
been so full of joy, and our union was to be 
so happy ? And it will still be so, if you will 
only dismiss from your mind these troublesome 
fancies. I will try to be all that you wish. 
But I cannot surrender my own will about some 
things. Shall I find my own gentle Edith 
again, to-morrow evening ? ” 

The deep love in my heart was now so 
strongly urging me to give up this contest, 
and trust my future with Howard, without this 
promise. But a Power above my own held me 
to my resolution. As some memories of Aunt 
Emma’s story flashed before my mind, I felt 
again that I must be firm and decided. 

It was evident that Howard did not intend to 
yield to my wishes this evening. Would he ever 
do so ? Yes, I still felt sure that he would, 
when he had given himself time for reflection. 


104 


WHY? 


My own Howard would, I knew ! But Howard 
was not himself to-night. 

But wishing to give him a clear understanding 
of the position I had taken, I replied to his 
question by asking, — 

“ Do you, then, refuse to give me any pledge 
of what I wish so much ? ” 

“Well, — I cannot bind myself at all in this 
matter.” 

“ Then, Howard, my best-loved friend, you com- 
pel me to say this to you : — Do not come to 
me again until you can come prepared to give 
to me this pledge of safety in our married 
home.” 

His face was very pale and stern as he took 
my hand for the evening good-bye. But his 
voice trembled as he said, — 

“ I trust that this is not, or will not prove to 
be, your final decision, Edith. I know that this 
does not come from your heart. But when that 
comes to be aroused by memories of our happy 
love, you will send to me a word calling me 
back to you without any conditions. I will 
gladly return at the slightest summons.” 

And he was gone 1 

When his quick, firm step could no longer be 
heard upon the gravel path, my own strength 
gave way, and I sank down in grief and fear. 


EDITH ASHTON'S CRUCIBLE. 


105 


Oh ! could it be possible that the dear, familiar 
footstep would never return to make my heart 
glad again ? Have I sent from me forever my 
dearest friend ? The only one I claim as all 
my own ? Oh, no ! it cannot be ! Howard’s 
better mind will prevail over all else. He 
will see that my request is reasonable and best 
for us both. He will come to-morrow evening 
to join with me in my resolve, and all will be 
bright again. So I comforted myself for a 
time. 


io 6 


WHY? 


XII. 

IBusfeirjed • ixjrflje • Crucible. 

. “ He that purifies the heart 

With grief — will lend it strength.” 

— Hemans. 

rjHHE next evening came and passed away, but 
(p Howard Fielding did not return. Then 
came my hardest conflict. In the morning I 
must leave Weston. Could I go without seeing 
Howard again ? 

I had not thought it possible that my decis- 
ion would break our friendship. Could I bear 
to have it so ? Could I give up all our united 
anticipations ? Could I live on alone without the 

loving care I had thought so sure would be 

mine ? 

I was growing very weak. I was too ex- 
hausted in mind, too bewildered in spirit, to 
battle alone with my trials! God — and Heaven 
— and faith seemed far away from me! At 

last, late in the evening, I went to Aunt 

Emma. She led me up into her little Bethel 


SUSTAINED IN THE CRUCIBLE. 


107 


room. Drawing me close to her side and sooth- 
ing me with gentle caresses, she listened as I 
told her how it was now between Howard and 
myself. 

“My poor darling! Your trial has come 
sooner than I thought. I knew it must come 
some time, for I have known, as you have not, 
that Howard was going into dangerous paths. 
Remembering my own girlhood confidence I re- 
frained from speaking until I could tell you 
my own story. I have prayed much for you, 
dear Edith, that God would help you to do 
whatever was best for Howard and yourself. 

“Do not blame yourself for being so decided. 
It surely was necessary to remain firm. If 
Howard had not felt some self-reproach he 
would not have withstood your pleading. It 
was not like him to meet loving solicitude in 
the way he did last evening. 

“I have an assurance that is as dear to me 
now as a sunbeam that this time of trial will 
result in a blessing to Howard. You are not 
suffering in vain. Woman must be willing to 
suffer for those she loves, 

“ Howard Fielding possesses every element of 
the noblest manhood, I cannot doubt his love 
for you, and I believe that he will after a time 
give to you the pledge that you require. Even 


io 8 


WHY? 


if he refuses to do so now and leaves you to 
go your own lonely path, I believe he will 
surely see his mistake and perhaps become all 
that your highest wishes would ask for him. 
Do not grieve so, my darling child ! Even if 
your fears should prove a reality, and you find 
that you must give up Howard and the fond 
hopes you have cherished, it had better be now 
than in future years when all is lost in his 
ruined manhood ! 

“ Do not be frightened, my darling, by any 
vision of lonely years your loving heart may 
now have, for you will never be all alone. You 
have been looking to God to direct you. He 
has led you into a severe trial, but our Great 
Refiner never places a soul in His crucible and 
leaves it to endure the fiery testing alone! He 
is certainly watching over you now ! Yes, and 
bearing your sorrow and you in His strong, 
loving hand ! 

“Do you not remember those words in refer- 
ence to our Saviour? — 

“ ‘ He hath borne our griefs, and carried our 
sorrows.’ And, — 

“‘He shall sit as a Refiner and Purifier of 
silver.’ 

“How patiently He waits until His own image 
is reflected in the purified soul ! We must not 


SUSTAINED IN THE CRUCIBLE. 


109 


resist His will nor His process. Give yourself 
fully into His care, my dear Edith. God* helped 
you in your sad interview with Howard, and 
He ’will be your same help and comfort 
always! He says Himself, *1 will never leave 
nor forsake thee.’” 

Aunt Emma then knelt by my side in prayer. 
In a faith that made the Divine Presence a 

reality, she took me to the feet of Infinite 

Love. With earnest pleading she asked that I 
might be taken into and kept, “ Beneath the 
shadow of His wings,” through all trials that 
awaited me. Even while she was asking, the 
blessing came. The same voice that reassured 
the disciples upon the sea of Galilee, now 
quieted and comforted my heart in the same 
words, “ Be of good cheer, it is I, be not 

afraid.” 

There came to me a new feeling of being in 
God’s presence, and of His loving care for me! 
With this comforting I could trust all things 
in His Lands, though I had to go away from 

Weston without again seeing Howard, or re- 
ceiving one word from him. 

For many months after I returned to my 
school, I watched and hoped for some token of 
remembrance from my promised husband. None 


ever came. 


IIO 


“ WHY? 


I thought Howard Fielding loved me so 
truly ! How could he so readily give me up ? 
And for such a cause ? 

This was my last term at -school. It had 
been arranged that soon after I graduated How- 
ard would take me to his home as his bride. 
If he utterly refused to grant to me that which 
I felt more than ever was a pledge of home 
security, what was my prospect in life ? A 
lonely, darkened path ! 

As months passed on, and it was becoming 
a certainty that Howard did not intend to yield 
to my wishes, my own heart plead hard to 

give up my resolution and write the word to 
Howard that I knew would speedily recall him 
to my side. But in the light of what God 

had taught me, I did not dare to invite How- 
ard to return until he would come to stand 

with me upon the same foundation for home 

and happiness. 

Almost a year had passed since we parted. 
A year of entire silence between us ! I was 
now sure that Howard was lost to me ! Again 
I was plunged into a severe soul conflict and 
suffering. How can heart-ties be broken with- 
out suffering? Again Heaven sent comfort to 
me through my dear Aunt Emma. 

“ This is a sore trial to me also, my dear 


SUSTAINED IN THE CRUCIBLE. 


Ill 


Edith. I did believe Howard was too noble to 
allow this permanent estrangement, and I hoped 
to keep you near to myself as the wife of 
Howard. 

“We must not look backward, but ever on- 
ward and upward ! In the blessed future life 
we shall understand, as we cannot now, why 
our hearts need to suffer so much ! My dear, 
let me urge you to hold fast upon the anchor 
to the soul , your hope and trust in God. Take 
this, one of His promises, and treasure it up in 
your heart, — 

“‘Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not 
dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen 
thee ; yea, I will help thee ; yea, I will uphold 
thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ 

“ And, my darling Edith, let this be your 
joy, your refuge, and your watchword, ‘Jesus 
only ! ’ ” 

And so it was ! I was sustained, comforted, 
and strengthened, until gradually I could think of 
Howard Fielding and our banished dream of 
love, with a quiet sadness. 

If I had not found a hiding place and a 
refuge in an Almighty Saviour and He had not 
become an abiding reality to my soul, I never 
could have borne the withering of my blighted 
joy, and my only love on earth ! 


1 12 


WHY?” 


My school-days closed and I had to decide 
what I would do in the future. I should never 
marry and have a home of my own. I had 
loved Howard Fielding, I loved him still, too 
purely, too truly ! I could never give my 
hand to another ! 

But there was work to be done, work for 
the suffering, the poor, the ignorant. I would 
devote my life to that work. 

About the time that I graduated, I became 
acquainted with a missionary family just going 
out to their field of labor in India. Through 
this family the way opened for me to enter 
upon the work to which I had given myself. 
I made hasty preparations to go with them. 

A year and a half after I left Weston, I re- 
turned for my last visit with Aunt Emma. 

I had learned that Howard Fielding had fin- 
ished his medical studies, and was established 
in a distant town. 

My own heart had become quiet ; but the 
love for Howard was still there ! A hidden 
treasure that would live and be comforted 
through my earnest prayers to Heaven for 
his best welfare and happiness. 

I found little change in the home except that 
my aunt was more pale and spiritual, and my 
uncle more given up to his fearful habits. My 


SUSTAINED IN THE CRUCIBLE. 


113 


aunt still believed that some time he would 
return to himself and to his family. 

It was a sad trial to leave my noble aunt 
so alone. But she gave me her blessing with 
her farewell kiss. 

“You know now, darling, that you and I will 
never be all alone ! One who can comfort, and 
who has All-Power, will never leave us!” 


WHY? 


114 


XIII. 


pio^ard • Rieldir)^, 


“It is that He my sacrifice hath blessed 
With a deep, chastening sense, that all at last is well.” 

— Hemans. 


TaT is not my intention in this record to enter 
4 ; into the particulars of my life in India. My 
work there was a quiet, unostentatious one, 
among the women in that heathen land. 

I remained for many years in the family with 
whom I left America. Our station was in a 
village among the hills. A luxuriant grove 
shaded our home, and flowers of rare beauty 
flourished in profusion. 

Ah ! how unlike they all were, — the trees, 
the flowers, and the hills, — from those of my 
own native land ! This very strangeness was 
better for my heart rest. No touch, or link of 
old associations, could awaken memories to give 
pain. I let the old life hide away, though not 
forgotten. That could never be ! The memory 


HOWARD FIELDING . 


“5 


was laid away tenderly, as something to be 
cherished ever within the heart-casket. 

With that promise of God still laid upon my 
soul, — “Fear thou not, for I will help thee!” 
— I began my life in India. Soon I gathered 
about me the sad-eyed women. My heart became 
engrossed in telling, “ The wonderful words of 
Life” to those who never before had heard of 
Jesus and His redeeming love. 

In this pleasant employment the years fled 
rapidly away. 

Letters from Aunt Emma and Cousin Idnella 
came to me after long intervals, but always 
cheering me with their sympathy and love. 

As the years went by, there was no change 
for the . better, and no prospect of Idnella’ s 
return to her New England home. She under- 
stood it all now. After a time she was mar- 
ried to a young minister, and went to a home 
of her own. She described to me, in her own 
glowing words, the new happiness she had 
found, telling me something about her husband, 
and charming home. 

Aunt Emma wrote, — 

“I am so thankful that my sensitive dar- 
ling is so happily sheltered in the love of 
one like Mr. Alerton. I have prayed much 
that Idnella might be spared from such 


ii 6 


WHY?” 


trials as yours, for she could not have borne 
them.” 

Ah ! mother-heart, even your pure vision could 
not see to the end. 

I had been ten years in India, when I was 
startled by the coming of a letter, directed in 
the unforgotten hand-writing of Howard Fielding. 

It was opened in haste. 


‘‘Oakland Fort, Pacific Coast, Sept. 14th. 
“Miss Edith Ashton, 

“My Dear Friend, — Yes, I call you mine, by the 
right of the love that has never left my heart! I 
know there is no wrong in my doing so, for it is 
but a little time since I was told that you still re- 
tained your love for me. 

“ A short time previous to coming here, I went to 
Weston. I called to see your Aunt Heyward. This 
was the first time I had been to your home since 
our last interview. 

“ Your aunt told me all. What you suffered, and 
how you triumphed ! Clinging to God in your sorrow, 
but giving your life-service for the good of others. 
My noble Edith ! Mine, though lost for this life ! 

“I write now, my best friend, in the hope of 
making some amends to you for the wrong I have 
done. Yes, I wronged you deeply; and wronged 
myself still more through my obstinate wilfulness. 


HOWARD FIELDING. 


II 7 


“ I wish to give you the comfort now of knowing 
that your sacrifice for principle has not been in 
vain. 

“You will see this as I tell my story to you. 
Let me go back to the evening of our sad parting. 
I always wonder as I think of your calm, though 
tearful firmness, and my own irritation. Oh ! if time 
could retrieve its steps through the avenue of years, 
and take us back to that long-ago evening; would 
I decide differently? Yes, now. But then, in assert- 
ing man’s dominant will, I resolved not to give you 
the promise you asked of me. In doing so, how 
impossible it was for me to think that I might lose 
you. I thought I understood your gentle nature, and 
knowing that you loved me, I could only expect that 
you would yield to me about the pledge. 

“ If your solicitude for me had been a needless one, 
I never could have refused your pleading. I was not 
conscious myself where I was then standing, but 
your unexpected request awakened some recollections, 
and stirred up some evil within me to oppose and 
deny you. 

“ My best friend, I will tell you now, that I had 
indeed, — at that very time, — stept into the way 
where one rarely stops of himself, when he is fully 
upon its treacherous smoothness. 

“I became convinced of this when I returned to 
meet my convivial classmates. I found that I had a 
stronger craving and love for stimulants than I had 
thought. I would soon have been gliding uncon- 


1 1 8 


why r* 


sciously down the slippery path to a drunkard’s 
doom, if your small hand and loving voice had not 
arrested my course. 

“ I knew, then, that you were right in your demand ; 
my best feelings prompted me to write and tell you 
so. But I was not then prepared to give up, in 
anything, man’s claim to dictate his own actions. 

“ Oh ! why do men and women so often compel a 
‘ need-be ’ for God’s testing furnace and refining 
crucible ? 

“When you left Weston without sending a word to 
me, I was irritated and troubled. I resolved to wait 
until you did write before you should hear from me. 
I concluded that when we met in Weston, at our 
next vacation, you would then welcome me without 
any conditions. 

“ I was not sorry when my medical course was 
over, and I went to Langdon. My mind was trou- 
bled whenever I thought of my unkindness to you ; 
and I plunged into the duties my profession with 
ceaseless vigor. 

“I still anticipated meeting you in Weston, when 
I expected that all would be made right again 
between us. I was delayed in getting away from my 
patients. When I did reach Weston, how great was 
my astonishment to learn that you had just sailed 
for India! 

“ My gentle, timid, little Edith, gone as a teacher 
to that strange, far-off land! And I meant to shield 
her so tenderly in a home of our own ! 


HOWARD FIELDING. 


II 9 


“Do not indulge one regret now that you did take 
that brave-hearted course. It has been one of the 
pure memories that has kept me from ruin. 

“I did not then come to Weston with any inten- 
tion of giving to you the promise you wished. On 
the contrary, I expected to be able to persuade you 
to let it all go. If you had yielded to me, the 
result, do doubt, would have been disastrous to both 
of us. It is a sad experience in life, — that what the 
influence of the plighted one fails to do, the wedded 
life can rarely accomplish. I refused my Edith then, 
and probably would not have yielded to her after our 
marriage. But your firm stand for what was right and 
reasonable, and your giving up the hopes that I know 
were dear to you, raised a beacon light that has kept 
me from becoming the lost man I would have made 
of myself. 

“ It was only after such years of bitter trial as 
men do not often endure, that I reached safety and 
rest. 

“Among my patients in Langdon was General Wil- 
son. He was a confirmed invalid, but a very social 
old man. Taking a fancy to me, he often detained 
me to take dinner or tea with him. 

“ Among the essential necessaries of life to him, 
he thought, were wine and brandy; and they were 
daily upon his table. Often he insisted that I should 
take a glass with him. Occasionally I yielded. 

“When I returned from Weston, I threw away all 
scruples for awhile, and became reckless of all cohse- 


120 


WHY?” 


quences. I had lost my intended wife, — my Edith, — 
my only loved one, and through my own folly. 

“For a time I cared not what became of me ! I 
was even tempted to arraign the justice of God, in 
thus thwarting my earthly plans. 

“ Then I never refused to drink with the General ; 
and when his daughter, the gay Helen Wilson, chal- 
lenged me in a glass of wine or brandy it was 
readily accepted. 

“ In six months from the time that I knew Edith 
was lost to me, I married Helen Wilson, and our 
home was with her father. 

“I would have been swept down then to utter des- 
truction by the influences surrounding me, had not 
memories of your pure womanhood come again to 
arrest and save me. 

“ Yes, it is true ! When I raised the glass to my 
lips, there came memoirs of your pale, tearful face, 
and warning voice, haunting me with their sad plead- 
ing. 

“ I had learned that my boasted self-control was 
powerless. Several times I had been carried to my 
office intoxicated. At last, one day, I dashed the 
glass away from me, and in my own mind took the 
pledge you asked me to give to you. From that 
time nothing that could stimulate has passed my lips. 

“ My wife was an accomplished woman, and I was 
proud - of her ; but a few years of married life dis- 
closed to me the fact that she was falling into the 
habitual use of stimulants, even to intoxication. Not 


HOWARD FIELDING. 


1 2 1 


only this, but it was becoming a thing of public 
observation. Again and again, upon her return home, 
after a round of calls upon her fashionable acquaint- 
ances, the coachman would be obliged to carry her 
into the hous.e in a drunken stupor. 

“ Oh ! in that time of my darkening home, how 
gladly would I have given the strongest pledges of 
total abstinence ! In that time, too, you, — my Edith, 
— were nobly vindicated in your decision. 

“I pleaded with my wife to give up the habit that 
was disgracing our home, and unfitting her for the 
duties of wife and mother, but she only laughed at 
my pleading, and derided my remonstrances. 

“ ‘ Do you think that I have been using these 
things all my life, and can now give them up at 
your dictation ? Your own record is not a stainless 
one, and if you imagine, Doctor Fielding, that your 
lecturing me will do any good, you will find yourself 
mistaken.’ 

“ I was as helpless and humiliated, in my desolate 
home, as many a delicate woman is when the demon 
of intemperance gains control in the home. 

“ As far as was in my power, I kept all spirits 
away from Helen. Even the door of my office was 
always locked. But one day, I received so urgent a 
summons that this precaution was forgotten. When I 
returned, after a few hours absence, my wife was 
intoxicated, and my only child, — a bright loving boy 
of six years, — was sinking into death. His mother 
had given to him a dangerous narcotic. 


122 


“ WHY? 


“ Of my own feelings I must say but little. He, 
my boy, was my all of earth ! My parents were both 
dead. My first bright hopes withered in losing Edith. 
The brilliant woman that I married had made her- 
self too low to even claim respect, and my boy was 
the only sunbeam in my dark path ! 

“ I had never prayed ; but as I knelt by the 
coffined form of my darling, I felt such a need of 
help and comfort beyond anything of earth, that I 
did cry out to God as a soul can only call in its 
agony. 

“ No one ever goes with faith to God in vain ; 
and since then He has been my strong, unfailing 
Helper ! 

“Langdon had become so sad a place to me that 
I decided to leave. I secured a position as army 
surgeon, and was to be sent to the Pacific coast. I 
had a hope that this change might have a good 
effect upon my unfortunate wife, but just as we were 
leaving Langdon she died from the effects of drinking, 
and was laid beside our boy and her father. 

“ I came out here alone. I am the surgeon, but 
I officiate as chaplain when needed. I find many 
noble young men, — the sons of loving households. 
They come into the army with a high ambition, 
but temptations assail them in every form, and too 
many of them will go to ruin, destroying their own 
and the fond hopes of their friends. I am giving the 
energy of my whole being to the work of aiding 
and saving them, with God’s blessing. 


HOWARD FIELDING. 


123 


“And now, my dear friend, will you accept of this, 
and think of me as your true friend still? Yes, — 
after all of these years of suffering and of silence 
between us, — I want to assure you, once more, how 
truly I love you ! But I do not write this in any 
hope of our meeting again in this life. If my work 
was not with the army, and on this far-away frontier, 
I would indulge some hope that our lives might 
yet become united. Such a hope I dare not cherish 
now, but all that is best in our love will outlive 
the changes of this life. In our Father’s ‘many 
mansions’ we will meet again, in the presence of our 
Saviour-God 1 

“Until then, farewell, my best friend! 

“ Howard Fielding.” 

What this letter was to me only God could 
know. It was joy to receive from Howard such 
words, and to feel that I was not forgotten, and 
to learn that my Howard was a noble, Christian 
man. The present joy cancelled all my past suf- 
ferings. What did it matter if earthly hopes 
had early withered? The Heavenly hopes were 
made all the brighter! 

Through this letter new strength was given 
to aid me in my work. 

I loved my work. It was a joy to see the 
dull eye lighten as the wronged women began 
to comprehend the truth, — That there was a 


124 


WHY? 


Being who made them, loved them, died for 
them, and lived for them. 

Many gathered about me who learned to 
believe in the Saviour. I was content to spend 
my life leading these souls to Christ, but at 
length my health failed. Physicians urged me to 
resign my work into the hands of others, and I 
turned reluctantly away from India. 


AT THE OLD HOME. 


125 


XIV. 


@/lf • t\)& • ©Id 



“ How all comes back ! scene after scene — 
The old life o’er me throngs I” 


® H ! home of my early life ! How welcome 
is your quiet shelter, after so many years 
spent in a foreign land ! To the happy home 
where Aunt Emma Heyward and Cousin Idnella 
once lived, I turned again for rest. True, they 
were not there, but everything vividly reminded 
me of their kindness and love. 

The farm had passed into the possession of 
strangers, but the right of a home was reserved 
for me ; and for Idnella should she come to 
claim it. 

The ample rooms reserved for us still retained 
their familiar furniture and adornment, and the 
mansion stood grandly the same, though the 
storms of more than twenty years had beaten 
about its walls, and extinguished the home lights 
one after another since we all gathered there. 


126 


WHY? 


The June air was laden with the perfume of 
the same variety of flowers as in those far-off 
years, when loved ones sat with me beneath 
those stately old poplars. 

The outlook from the trellised seat by the door 
was the same. Green fields near by, farm-houses 
upon the hill-sides, the village in the valley, the 
glimpse of the river, the wood-crowned hills, and 
the mountain beyond, — all were unchanged. 

As I watched the fading light, I seemed no 
longer alone, weary, and growing old, but again 
I was a young, glad-hearted girl, watching the 
golden sunset, with Cousin Idnella beside me ! 
The twilight deepened ; the hush of evening fell 
around me, and the dream was dispelled. 

Again, in the chamber, sitting by the west 
window, alone, I thought of the past. But did 
I regret my decision, made long ago, in that 
room, — the decision that left me a lonely 
woman, without home and family ties ? No, 
surely not ! No one ever regretted placing his 
hand within God’s hand, and following His lead- 
ing. I have no regrets, for I know that my 
Father in Heaven has guided all my steps; and 
He doeth all things well. 

I know not whether Howard Fielding is still 
working for the Master upon earth, but I do 
know that when we shall stand by the side of 


AT THE OLD HOME . 


127 


the “ River of Life, that flows from the throne 
of God,” we shall see that our earthly path was 
marked out by the best Love. 

One day I opened an old cabinet, and found 
diaries, letters, and other papers, which told me 
of the life of my aunt after I went to India. 
Here, too, I gathered the history of Cousin Id- 
nella’s life in California. 

My darling sister-cousin ! As I think of the 
dark cloud that came over her happy girlhood, 
and the strange sorrows of her later life, the 
question springs to my lips, — 

“Why? Oh, why?” 

And the only answer is,- — 

“/ have chosen thee in the furnace of afflic- 
tion 


128 


“ why ? 


XV. 


Idrjell 


“There is a something, yet I scarce know what, — 

A something that my longing soul would gain.” 

/JPvUINCE is a pretty place, and it is very 
vfj/ pleasant in my uncle’s home. Uncle and 
aunt are very kind ; but, .mother dear, this is not 
home. Oh ! when may I come back to you, and 
to my own home?” 

This was in a letter from Idnella Heyward, 
when she had been two years in California. 
There could not be a heart more fondly attached 
to friends and home than Idnella’s, and the 
strange sorrow that early in life made her an 
exile was ever a depressing memory, casting a 
shade in retrospect over all of her after life, 
and which, in her happiest letters, she could not 
conceal. There ever seemed an unusual, unsatis- 
fied yearning for mother, home, and love. Yet, 
her presence was joy-giving to others. Her 


ID NELL A HEYWARD . 


129 


Uncle Dudley wrote of her, — “Idnella is always 
pleasant, always winning, and we love her.” 

As the niece of Judge Dudley, many friends 
gathered about her in the new home. 

Just before the sad parting, her mother said, — 
“ My precious child, will you give me a 
promise, and keep it true ? ” 

“Yes, dear mother, I will!” 

“Then I want you to promise to meet me in 
prayer, every night, if possible, when the sun is 
setting. If circumstances sometimes prevent you 
from doing that, always think of me as praying 
then for you, — that God will make you truly 
His child, and that if we never meet in this 
life again, we may be sure to meet in Heaven. 
Do you promise, my darling ? ” 

The young heart was too deeply affected to 
allow Idnella to speak; but a kiss, and a tight 
clasping of arms about her neck, gave to the 
mother the promise she sought. 

Never did Idnella enjoy her favorite hour, in 
watching the golden sun set over the Pacific 
coast without remembering that her loving mother 
was at that moment praying for her. These 
prayers led her to God. 

As Idnella stood, with others, to unite with 
the church, there came to her mind, for the 
first time, some questionings as to the truth of 


130 


WHY? 


her early teachings. She was sprinkled in in- 
fancy. She had read so often, in the Bible, — 
“Believe, and be baptized,” that at this moment 
she felt she ought to receive baptism then. She 
had an unsatisfied feeling, that with her some- 
thing was left out in that hour of solemn con- 
secration. Idnella remembered that her mother 
believed this to be the right way, and for the 
time she felt that it must be so. 

Four years after Idnella Heyward came to 
Quince, she had become strongly attached to 
the church, felt at home, and was beloved 
by all her new friends. But the blessed 
Refiner saw it best that her young heart 
should early in life be placed in a crucible of 
giving up friends. . 

There had been only one church in Quince, 
but there came into the place a minister of 
another denomination. The views of this man 
were so different upon some points from the 
prevailing ones among Mr. Norton’s people, that 
he felt called upon to warn his hearers against 
being led astray. To establish his own church 
more securely in the truth, he commenced 
preaching doctrinal sermons, one every Sabbath 
morning. 

When he came to speak upon “Baptism,” no 
one listened so intently as did Idnella Heyward. 


ID NELL A HEYWARD. 


131 


There had been times when those former question- 
ings had troubled her. Now she watched eagerly 
to hear her pastor tell where the passages in 
the Bible could be found that taught the bap- 
tism of infants. She was sure they must be 
somewhere in the Bible, yet she had never 
been able to find them. 

Her pastor did not help her. He never 
quoted any passage, nor referred to any, in the 
Bible, where infant baptism was taught. He 
only inferred some things in certain places, but 
he had much to say about what “The Fathers 
of the early churches ” wrote. 

This did not satisfy Idnella’s now thoroughly 
awakened mind. 

“ Oh ! I want to know ! I must know what 
God says about this in the Bible!” 

This was only said to herself. She felt 
truly that no one about her would give her 
any sympathy. Indeed, she too often heard the 
remark, “How plain Mr. Norton makes it all!” 
to allow her to speak of her own doubts. 

Then, too, her Uncle Dudley had very de- 
cidedly warned his family against giving the 
least heed to “ what those ranting Baptists 
said.” 

Idnella revered and loved her uncle ; yet she 
was not a little afraid of him, and never could 


132 


“ WHY? 


have said to him, nor to her aunt, “ Perhaps 
those Baptists are right in some things.” How- 
ever, this became her secret feeling. 

Idnella could but believe, as she examined 
her Bible, that immersion was taught there, and 
that Jesus Himself was immersed. She had 
always thought that sprinkling, too, was taught 
in the Bible, but her pastor’s own discourses 
dispelled that idea from her mind, and she was 
compelled to believe that she had not been 
baptised. 

She became sad and anxious, for what was 
she to do ? In this trouble she was all alone. 
How could she write of this to her mother ? 

Would it not grieve that loving mother, to 
learn that her daughter was discarding her own 
teaching and example ? 

Alone in her room Idnella wept and prayed. 

Yes, she could go to God with this trouble, 

though He was to her then, as a Friend, very 

far off ; but the Good Shepherd was watching 
this lamb of His fold, and gave her strength to 
stand decided according to her conviction of 
what was her duty. 

At length Idnella began to feel that if she 
was not baptised she had no right to the ordi- 
nances of the church, and when the next com- 
munion Sabbath came, she returned immediately 


IDNELLA HEYWARD. 


133 


home, and alone in her room tried to prepare 
herself for the questions she knew would be 
asked. 

It was the custom in her uncle’s family for 
all to meet in the parlor and spend some time 
after church service in singing, but this Sabbath 
evening Judge Dudley did not open his organ, 
but called Idnella to meet him alone in the 
parlor. 

“Well, my dear, you did not remain to the 
Lord’s Supper to-day. Are you sick?” 

“No, Uncle, I am well.” 

“ Why, then, did you come home ? ” 

“ I felt that I ought not to stay.” 

“Why, Idnella?” 

“Well, Uncle, I don’t think I have been 
baptised, and so have no right to be in the 
church.” 

“ My dear child, what is the meaning of this ? 
Have you been to the Baptist meetings and 
heard those people talk?” 

“ Oh ! no, Uncle ; I have not been there. 
You forbade our going, you know.” 

“ Well, you have been reading some of their 
writings, then.” 

“No, I have read nothing but the Bible, and 
I have never heard anything upon this subject, 
only what Mr. Norton said.” 


134 


WHY? 


“ Mr. Norton ! Why, he explained it all per- 
fectly plain.” 

“He only made it plain to me that I have 
, never been baptised.” 

“Well, we will have him come here and 
make it plain to you that you have been bap- 
tised. I am certain he can do it.” 


WHAT IS TRUTH ? 


135 


XVI. 

U \)dA • IS • ^2?uf 1) ? ’ ’ 

JlfZHE Rev. Mr. Norton was a veritable son 
!P of New England. With an eagle eye that 
sixty years had not dimmed ; he was tall, angu- 
lar in form, stern at times, but with warm 
affections hidden behind his distant exterior. 
When he laid aside his ministerial dignity he 
was a social and interesting companion. 

He was one of the pioneers in California, 
and the church in Quince had grown up under 
his own ministrations. Every member was as 
one of his family, and he watched for their 
good with constant care. With the strange ele- 
ments that flooded California, it was no easy 
task to guard them from all danger. 

As his church was the first one established, 
Mr. Norton claimed that he held the exclusive 
right to the whole field. When a man came 
preaching Baptist views, Mr. Norton considered 
it his bounden duty to warn his people against 


136 


WHY? 


him, and to instruct them thoroughly in the 
doctrines of their own church. This led him 
to give the discourses upon Baptism. In doing 
this he not only explained more fully their own 
views, but he undertook to state and refute 
those held by the Baptists. In the decided 
ground he took in opposition to them, he went 
so far as to say that he did not believe that 
there was one case of immersion in the Bible, 
nor one proof that this mode of baptism was 
required. 

Most of Mr. Norton’s confiding hearers ac- 
cepted his statements as the truth, without 
making any research for themselves: 

Idnella had read her Bible only upon this 
subject, so her mind was not bewildered by 
the conflicting opinions of men. 

The family of Judge Dudley always welcomed 
the visits of the minister. When the Judge 
told Mr. Norton of Idnella’s state of mind his 
reply was, — 

“ Well, well, we must bring her out of that ! 
Of all my flock, I cannot have your niece 
taken from us in such a way ! ” 

With this feeling strong upon his heart, Mr. 
Norton called to see Idnella. 

His manner was very kind as he clasped her 
hand in greeting, — 


WHAT IS TRUTH ? 


1 37 


“Well, my young friend, how is it that we did 
not see you at our last communion service?” 

“ I thought I better not remain, Mr. Norton.” 

“Why?” 

“I felt that I had never been baptised.” 

“How is that? Were you not baptised in in- 
fancy ? ” 

“ I was sprinkled, but the Bible says, 4 Believe 
and be baptised.’ Will you baptise me, Mr. 
Norton ? ” 

The request came so unexpectedly to the 
good man that he must be pardoned for so for- 
getting his usual dignity as to spring suddenly 
from his chair, and remain some moments stand- 
ing in silent astonishment. 

At length the thought came to him that after 
all of his efforts, his young people were not so 
well instructed in the doctrines of the church 
as they ought to be, and this was all that 
Idnella needed to settle her misgivings. He 
again seated himself and said, — 

“ My dear child, you do not understand all 
about this. Let me explain it to you. You 
have read the Bible so much you must remem- 
ber what it says in Ephesians, ‘One Lord, one 
faith, one baptism.’ You must see that there is 
only one baptism. You have been baptised, and 
that is sufficient.” 


138 


WHY? 


“But Mr. Norton, I do not think that sprink- 
ling babies, — nor any one, — is the baptism of 
the Bible.” 

“ Well, I tell you that it is so ! I understand 
the Greek text, and have studied the Bible so 
long, can you not believe me and take my word 
for it ? ” 

There was some asperity in his voice as Mr. 
Norton said this. He evidently saw it himself, 
for he added, more gently, — 

“The mode in which water is applied in bap- 
tism is of little consequence. The true, essen- 
tial baptism is that of the Holy Spirit.” 

In a quiet tone, as if hurt or bewildered, 

Idnella replied, — 

“Mr. Norton, I do not feel that I have re- 
ceived that baptism either. Our Saviour tells us 
to follow Him. He went down into the water and 
was baptised. I want to follow His example.” 

The Pastor was sorely perplexed as to how to 
influence this sensitive young heart. At last 
he said, — 

“I am very sorry you have allowed those 

Baptists to trouble you so! Can you not trust 
your own Pastor to teach and direct you? I 

know as much about these things as they do. 

Will you not give this all up and permit 
to tell you what is truth?” 


me 


WHAT IS TRUTH ? 


139 


“ But, Mr. Norton, no one has talked to me 
about this. I am not acquainted with one of 
the Baptist people. I have never heard them 
talk and have had none of their writings. It 
was your sermons that led me to feel as 
I do.” 

“ My sermons ! ” exclaimed Mr. Norton, once 
more surprised into undignified excitement. “My 
sermons ! Why, I thought I made everything 
so clear that all could understand. What was 
in my sermons to trouble you ? ” 

“Mr. Norton, always, when I read about 
Jesus going down into the water and being 
baptised, I could not help believing that He 
was immersed, but as all of my friends said 
that sprinkling was baptism too, I did suppose 
there must be some place in the Bible where 
it said so. I expected you would tell us where 
to find those passages. You only told us what 
the Fathers said. I wanted to know what God 
said. He does tell us plainly, ‘ Believe and be 
baptised,’ and I want to do that which seems 
most like obeying His command.” 

Mr. Norton saw that it was useless for him 
to prolong any argument with one who trusted 
so in the teachings of the Bible. He must give 
up his young charge, but in his disappointment 
and chagrin, he could ill conceal his irritation, 


140 


WHY ? 


and his fatherly attitude changed to that of a 
judge,— 

“Well, Idnella, do you understand that the 
position you now take will exclude you from 
our sympathy and fellowship ? The members of 
our church must not absent themselves from its 
ordinances, nor make themselves mentors upon 
its accepted doctrines. We all wish to retain 
you with us, but if you remain in your present 
state of mind you must leave us ! ” 


FOLLOW THOU ME.' 


141 


XVII. 


u Rollout • 

I DNELLA HEYWARD had indeed not under- 
stood the usages of her church, nor the re- 
sult of her questionings. While seeking to 
obtain only the truth, she had cherished a 
vague idea fhat she would be permitted to re- 
ceive the baptism she wished for and still 
remain in her own church and among old 
friends. Mr. Norton had effectually destroyed 
that hope. 

Idnella knew now where she stood ; she must 
give up what she considered to be the truth, 
or she must relinquish the church associations of 
her whole life ! 

Neither could she claim the sympathy she 
needed from her loving mother, for she did not 
know but her mother disapproved her position, 
as did her Quince friends. 

She knew nothing about the Baptist people, 
nor what step she must take to follow Christ, 


142 


“ WHY? 


if she remained firm to her convictions of 
duty. 

There was then a most severe struggle before 
her young, loving heart could voluntarily turn 
away from all that was dear and familiar of 
sacred associations, to strangers and that which 
was unknown. She felt she must stand for the 
truth as God had taught it to her, and follow 
her Saviour. Yes, He had called her to do 
this, and He was helping her more than she 
knew. He was leading His lonely, sorrowful 
child into a way that would end beside the still 
waters of His presence. 

Even now Idnella was having the prayers and 
loving sympathy she craved, but did not seek 
for. After Mr. Norton’s fruitless interview, Id- 
nella’s uncle wrote to her mother, giving an 
account of the affair. 

Her reply was, — 

“ Do not let this trouble you, my brother. 
When I sent my precious daughter from me, I 
put her into God’s care. My first, my greatest 
desire for Idnella, has been that she should 
become a true Christian. You and I believe 
that she is one, and if God is leading her into 
a different path from our own, we must allow 
it without opposition. We can all be one in 
Christ Jesus.” 


FOLLOW THOU ME.' 


143 


Mrs. Heyward gave her darling again into 
the Saviour’s keeping, and Idnella, alone with 
her Bible and prayer, was receiving new light 
and strength. 

One pleasant Sabbath morning she decided to 
try and find the place where the few Baptists 
in Quince met for their church service. It was 
in a hall, quite a distance from her own home. 
The audience was small and unpretending. The 
minister was a white-headed old man, but his 
voice rang out in clarion tones, the words of 
the Saviour, — 

“ What is that to thee ? Follow thou me ! ” 

He dwelt in earnest, tender exhortation upon 
the theme, “Follow Christ.” Idnella felt that 
this was another message from the Saviour to 
herself, and that she must take up the cross 
of choosing this people, and this lowly place, to 
be her people and her church. 

As memory came afresh of all that she must 
surrender in leaving her own church and friends, 
the flood-gate of tears burst forth and would 
not be restrained. 

She remained with her head bowed upon, the 
seat before her as the services closed and the 
people went away. 

A gentle hand was laid upon her arm, and a 
low voice said, — 


144 


WHY?” 


“Is your grief something that our Saviour 
cannot soothe ? ” 

This suggestive question proved a quieting 
balm ; the tears ceased to fall, and a hush of 
peace fell upon Idnella’s heart. As soon as she 
could, she looked up at her questioner. A 
pleasant face met her glance, and the question 
was repeated, — 

“ Can you not trust our Almighty Saviour 
in your trouble ? ” 

When Idnella could keep the tears from her 
voice, she replied, — 

“The Saviour is mine,* dear lady, and I want 
to follow Him. I do not quite know how, just 
yet.” 

“ Will you come with me to my home until 
the afternoon service ? If you • are in doubt as 
to any duty perhaps we may be able to help 
you. The followers of Jesus must aid each 
other, you know.” 

This was said in such a motherly kindness, 
that Idnella held out her hand in confidence 
to the gentle stranger and accepted her invita- 
tion. 

As they passed out of the hall-door, a young 
man came to the side of the lady. She turned 
to Idnella and said, — 

“I am Mrs. Grafton, and this is my son.” 


FOLLOW THOU ME: 


145 


Idnella looked up and met a face like that 
of the mother. The smile with which he gave 
his hand in greeting, won her confidence as his 
mother’s had done, and won her heart too, as 

no smile had ever done before. Of this, how- 

ever, she was wholly unconscious. She accom- 
panied them with the peaceful feeling that she 
had met Christian friends who could understand 
and advise her. This hope was realized, for 
Mrs. Grafton and her son explained to Idnella 
all that she wished to know, and then com- 

mended her to the Saviour’s care in earnest 
prayer. 

When the afternoon service was over Idnella 
returned to her home in a quiet joy. 

In the evening she was alone in the library 
when Loren Belden came in search of her. He 
was a nephew of Mrs. Dudley’s, and was in 
the office of the Judge and a member of the 

family. He was a young man of talent. Judge 
Dudley secretly hoped that Idnella might be- 
come the wife of this promising young lawyer, 
and the young man himself had entertained sim- 
ilar thoughts. 

Since coming to California, Loren Belden had 
allowed himself to be swayed by influences very 
different from those in his New England* home. 
Coming in contact with the so-called “ modern 


146 


WHY? 


philosophy,” and imbibing its cold stoicism, he 
had drifted into the conclusion that a belief in 
God and the Bible was only a superstition, and 
all expressions of regard for friends was a weak- 
ness unfitting manhood. 

Nevertheless he had come to love Idnella 
Heyward as much as he was capable of loving 
any one. His pet philosophy had prevented him 
from making it known. 

Before her trouble about baptism began, Id- 
nella had become much as she used to be in 
happy childhood. To Loren Belden there was 
no music so sweet as her voice in singing, and 
her ringing laugh. He meant to have all this 
to himself some time. When he was ready it 
was his intention to ask her to become his wife. 

He chanced to see Idnella as she was walk- 
ing with Mrs. Grafton and her son that Sab- 
bath afternoon, and it startled him out of his 
stoicism so much that he decided to have a 
word with Idnella at once. He came to her in 
the library and said, — 

“ Idnella, will you walk out with me ? I saw 
some nice flowers by the Altalpa grove." 

“ Please excuse me to-day, Loren. I will go 
to-morrow.” 

“And why not to-day?” 

“Why, it is the Sabbath.” 


FOLLOW THOU ME: 


i4 7 


“ And will it be more of a sin to walk out 
with me than it was to go with Edward Graf- 
ton ? ” 

After a moment of startled surprise, Idnella 
replied, quietly, — 

“Why, Loren, I was only walking to church 
with Mr. Grafton and his mother. I never saw 
them until to-day.” 

“I hope you will never see them again. They 
are not fit associates for you. 

“ I have never told you so, Idnella, but I hope 
that sometime you will be my wife. I wish you 
would put away all this worry you are in about 
church doctrines. What does it all amount to, 
anyway? It only makes you sad and the home 
gloomy. Why, I have not heard you sing for a 
month, nor laugh, either. What is the use of 
all this?” 

“Because I cannot be satisfied without know- 
ing the truth about things.” 

“Well, that is just what I want to do; but 
I go to the rocks, and to scientific facts, instead 
of going to that Mosaic blunder, and the rest 
of those fables. If you would allow me to read 
to you about science and geology, as I wish 
to, you would not be in such a fog about things 
as you now are.” 

In the silence with which Idnella listened to 


148 


WHY? 


his carelessly spoken words, there was a quiver- 
ing of her heart, which Loren Belden would 
never know. Though he had never spoken of his 
love, she knew something about it by intuition, 
and in her own heart was a growing response 
to his regard, but his words crushed the young 
tendrils of affection so completely, that nothing 
could revive them again. 

Idnella did not speak until she could do so 
calmly. 

“Loren, I am so grieved to hear you talk in 
this way ! I, too, have studied, as you know, and 
I am certain there is nothing in true science, or 
in geology, against the Bible or God. I am in 
no fog as regards the Bible. It is only what 
men have said that has troubled me. You speak 
of a hope you have cherished. Do not allow 
yourself to hope any longer, for I can never be 
the wife of any man who rejects the Bible and 
disbelieves in God.” 

The irritation Loren felt when he saw Idnella 
with the Graftons, was still upon him during 
this conversation, giving to his manner and voice 
an ungentle rasping, natural to him, but never 
used toward Idnella before. Her quiet opposi- 
tion to all his wishes completed the overthrow 
of his boasted self-control, and he said, hastily, — 

“Perhaps you will accept of Edward Grafton, 


FOLLOW THOU ME.' 


149 


then, the young Baptist priest; they say he is 
in pursuit of a wife, and most likely this is the 
whole secret of your dissatisfaction with your 
own church and friends.” 

To this cruel taunt Idnella would make no 
reply, but hastened away to her own room. 

Could it be possible, she thought, that others 
beside Loren would ascribe such motives to her? 
Since Loren had flung out such a suggestion, 
she dared not go to meet Mrs. Grafton at the 
little gathering of Baptists, as she promised 
to do, and certainly could not go to Mrs. Graf- 
ton’s home again for advice. The short interview 
with them, and their gentle sympathy, had made 
them seem like friends, and she had anticipated 
meeting them again as a bright spot in her 
lonely life. After Loren’s ungenerous remark, 
her womanly delicacy would not permit her to 
go to the home of Edward Grafton, nor, indeed, 
to the Baptist meeting. 

Mrs. Grafton and her son wondered that they 
did not again see the earnest young enquirer, 
but they did not forget her. 


WHY ?" 


150 


XVIII. 

f HE mental strain upon Idnella Heyward for 
so many months, was evidently affecting her 
health. There was a consultation with her 
mother and a physician, and again it was 
decided that she must have a change. 

In the upper valley of Sonoma, the widow of 
an army officer had a private school for young 
ladies, and to this place, the following June, Judge 
Dudley carried his niece. 

Mrs. Mayo was a gentle, motherly woman, and 
her school small and select. The large house, 
and extensive grounds filled with flowers, shrub- 
bery, and trees, seemed to shut them away in 
a little world of their own. The seclusion from 
excitement, and the quiet routine of study, were 
a welcome change to Idnella. The out-door 
recreation and rambles in the park soothed and 
strengthened again the overwrought nerves. 

Idnella soon found that Mrs. Mayo was a 
Baptist, and her church not far away. At last she 


A REST 


151 


was with those who could help her in taking up 
her new duties. Before she took a step in that 
direction, she wrote to her mother of all her 
trials in the past months. I11 the reply of her 
mother, Idnella received a new cordial of joy. 

“Do not hesitate, my daughter, to follow the 
Saviour in all duty that He makes known to 
you. He, p.nd not your mother, must guide you 
in this ; but you may feel very sure, my dar- 
ling, that my sympathy and prayers have been 
given to you in all of your trouble.” 

With the added blessing of her mother’s appro- 
bation, Idnella was “buried with Christ in 

baptism,” and united with the church in Alto. 
Then the Lord placed the seal of His approv- 
ing smile upon the young soul that had given 
up so much to obey Him. He gave to her a 
trusting peace such as she had never felt 

before. It was His peace that He promises to 
all who obey Him. 

The summer passed in a quiet happiness with 
Idnella Heyward. In the fall there was a gath- 
ering of ministers at Alto. One afternoon, as 
Idnella entered the church, she saw Edward 

Grafton standing in a group of ministers. He 

recognized her at once, and came to her side. 
The lighting up of his dark eye evinced the 
truth of his words, as he took her hand. 


152 


WHY?” 


“ This is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure. I 
am glad to see you again. How is it that I 
find you in Alto ? ” 

Idnella explained that she was attending Mrs. 
Mayo’s school. 

“ And how is it now about the question of 
duty that troubled you last spring?” 

“ I have been baptized, and united with the 
church in this place.” 

“And your mind is at rest now?” 

“Yes, Mr. Grafton, I have now no misgivings 
about my baptism.” 

“My mother has not forgotten you, Miss Hey- 
ward. She will be glad to see you in Pasco. 
May I not tell her that you will come ? ” 

“Thank you; but I cannot promise. You may 
tell her that I do not forget her kindness to 
me that Sabbath.” 

The father of Edward Grafton was a teacher 
in a New England seminary, until failing health 
led him to California. Pie bought land and 
made a home in Quince, but his hope of being 
restored to health was not realized. Pie died, 
leaving his wife and daughter in the new home, 
while his son was yet pursuing his studies in 
the Theological Seminary in New England. 

It had been the earnest wish and intention of 
Edward Grafton to devote his life to the work 


A REST 


153 


of a foreign missionary. The death of his 
father left him the only protector and support 
of his mother and young sister. With his 
views of a mother’s claim upon her son, he felt 
no hesitation in accepting this as an indication 
of the Master’s will, that he should remain in 
his native land. For a time there was some 
prospect that he would settle in Quince, but be 
had finally located in Pasco, in the Sonoma valley, 
and in the pleasant parsonage home he had 
established his mother and sister. 

Mrs. Grafton at first objected to this arrange- 
ment, thinking that she and Mary had better 
remain in their own home. 

“You will have a wife, sometime, and you 
better let mother stay in Quince, my son.” 

“Yes, mother, I hope to find a wife, some- 
time, but the woman I shall marry will be a 
loving daughter to you, and our home will be 
your own home always. Don’t think I can ever 
do without my mother, when I have a wife.” 

What scene in the earthly life is more to be 
honored and admired, than the tender care of 
a son for his mother? 

Even the Bible refers to this tie between 
mother and son, as something peculiarly touch- 
ings — “The only son of his mother, and she a 
widow.” 


154 


WHY ? 


Edward Grafton had never seen the woman 
he desired for his wife until he met Idnella 
Heyward. It was, indeed, one of those instan- 
ces of mutual attraction at the first interview. 
Their unexpected meeting now was evidently a 
pleasure to both of them, though, with Idnella, 
concealed under a very quiet manner. Mr. 
Grafton did not mean to lose sight of her again, 
for he soon brought his mother to call upon 
her, and his own calls became more frequent at 
Mrs. Mayo’s, though he received little to 
encourage him from Idnella. 

Indeed, she was not willing for a long time 
to listen to her own fluttering heart, though 
fully conscious that the coming step and voice 
of Mr. Grafton were becoming most pleasant to 
hear. The never-forgotten taunt of Loren Bel- 
den mad£ Idnella embarrassed and silent in the 
presence of Edward Grafton. Even his mother 
and sister found it difficult to win her into the 
frankness that was most natural to her. 

After awhile, however, they persuaded Idnella 
to visit them in Pasco. There, in the quiet 
atmosphere of a loving home, her own heart was 
made quiet, and as she daily noted the tender 
consideration with which Mr. Grafton cared for 
his mother and sister, the thought would come, 
“He will make his wife happy.” 


A REST. 


155 


When she saw his untiring labor among his 
people, she began to feel that to unite with him 
in those labors would be the most pleasant life 
upon earth. 

In the golden days of the California autumn, 
Edward Grafton won the love of a most loving 
heart. In the early spring time, Idnella went 
as his bride to his home in Pasco. 

It was not her wish, and so was not thought 
best, that she should return to Quince at pres- 
ent, but in Mrs. Mayo’s parlor, with her Uncle 
and Aunt Dudley, and her school friends about 
her, Idnella Heyward took upon herself the 
vows of a wife. 

Never did woman enter upon that new life 
with a deeper joy, or a more vivid sense of its 
sacred responsibilities, than did Idnella. 

Her letters testify how she loved her new 
home, the home that was her own. She loved 
her husband with a love that became idolatry. 

Alas! for woman’s heart-rest when she loves 
like that! 


i 5 6 


“ WHY? " 


XIX. 

<J \ . • Srucikle. 

“And the voice that hushed the sea, 

Stills her spirit with the whisper, 

* Suffer them to come to me.’ ” 

t FTER Idnella went to her own home as 
the wife of Edward Grafton, she spent 
five years of deep, quiet happiness. 

Idnella proved an efficient helper in her hus- 
band’s pastoral work. Her keen sensibility and 
early trials prepared her to meet the varied 
claims upon the wife of a pastor. Many hearts 
now gave to her a mother’s and a sister’s love, 
and her own heart found a rest in their confi- 
dence. 

While meeting the duties of the church and 
general society, her thoughts and affections were 
centred within her own home-circle. To Mother 
Grafton she was a loving daughter, to her hus- 
band the devoted wife, and to her children the 
fond mother. There were two of the household 
darlings, and how the mother cherished those 


A NEW CRUCIBLE. 


157 


little ones was seen in every letter written to 
her old home in Weston. The far-off Grand- 
mother Heyward was cheered amid her own 
trials, by hearing many things about the wide- 
awake, loving, little Emma and baby Willie. 

Idnella Grafton had faith in God and loved 
Him as her Saviour, but faith and love became 
dim as her earthly blessings increased. Her 
strongest affections twined closer and closer 
around her husband and children. She loved 

her Saviour as a Friend in Heaven, — an un- 
known country, a mysterious, beautiful, but far- 
off world. 

The time was coming when that world would 
be brought very near to her, and the Saviour 
would reveal Himself in new and tender rela- 
tions. The beginning of this new lesson was 

near, though years would pass before she would 
fully receive it into her soul. Little Willie had 
never been a strong baby, but as his second 

year was closing he seemed in more robust 
health. At times he was still, too quiet, his 

dark eyes too full of thought, for babyhood, but 
his laugh and prattle were heard often, making 
the home glad and chasing away wearying care 
from his father’s brow. 

Suddenly this darling of the home was taken 
ill, and died after one week of suffering. 


i 5 8 


WHY? 


Oh ! what tears and prayers welled up from 
the hearts of parents and friends ! 

How the mother’s heart fainted in this new, 
refining fire ! Never before had Idnella watched 
over the sufferings of one she loved. Never 

had she seen a dear one die, until her own 

noble boy was taken. For a time she could 
not be comforted. 

In his last struggle, the darling one called 

out, “ Papa ! Mamma ! ” and was gone ! 

But where ? 

This question came to Idnella, as her mother- 
heart seemed to fly after the little, freed spirit, 
and again when she gave her last kiss to the 
sweet, white face, and saw the precious little 

form laid into the grave ; and in the after days, 
when she missed her babe so sadly, these new 
questionings haunted the mother continually. 

“Where is my darling? That timid little one, 
ever clinging so closely to his mother’s arms, 
will he not feel alone and afraid in the great 
company of that world of spirits ? 

“Oh! Is infant salvation sure? Is it well 
with my precious child ? ” 

In this time of grief and questioning, no 
word or opinion of man could satisfy or com- 
fort the mourning mother. Again she went to 
the Bible and read that only. As she studied 


A NEW CRUCIBLE. 


159 


more closely the character, the mission, and the 
very words of the Divine Saviour, all of her 
questionings were answered fully, and every 
doubt dispelled. In Him the bereaved mother 
was comforted. He gave to her in His Word 
the assurance that all who die in infancy are 
saved in Him. His atonement encircles the 
little ones. His own words are, — “Suffer little 
children to come unto Me, for of such is the 
Kingdom of Heaven. I am the Good Shepherd. 
Let the little ones come unto Me.” 

How tenderly He takes the lambs of His 
fold, the cherished treasures of the home-circle, — 
takes them out of a mother’s love into the safe 
shelter of His own eternal love! 


They die, — for Adam sinned, 
They live, — for Jesus died.” 


“ WHY? 


1 60 


XX. 


^pcsf ipcj • ^prierls. 


“Here we have no continuing city.” 

union between the church in Pasco and 
(P their pastor was a pleasant one, and un- 
usually so in some respects. Mr. Grafton’s pre- 
decessor was a man who cared more for his 
own will than for the interests of the church, 
or for the cause of Christ. In various ways he 
created discord and disunion among the people. 
When he went away the church was nearly 
destroyed. 

Mr. Grafton gathered the scattered members, 
uniting them to each other by leading them 
back to their Saviour. By his own wise and 
gentle ministrations, the church had become 
once more a united band of Christians. Their 
pastor not only found the people kind and affec- 
tionate, but also very intelligent, and willing to 
give him every aid in all service for the 
Master. 


TESTING TRIALS. 


161 


To this people Mr. Grafton had become very 
strongly attached, and they loved him with a 
rare confidence. How, then, could he decide to 
leave them ? It was indeed a severe trial, when 
the necessity was laid upon him. 

For some months Mr. Grafton had felt an 
increasing inability to perform his pastoral 
duties. He could not understand the cause, 
but upon consulting physicians he learned that 
he had heart-disease. They told him it was 

not yet chronic and its development might be 
checked, but to do this he must rest and avoid 
all excitement. 

Ah ! how was a faithful pastor, who could not 
preach a sermon without an absorbing interest 
in his work, to “ rest and avoid all excite- 
ment ” ? 

Only by giving it all up until it would be 
safe to resume the work. This was the deci- 
sion of the physicians and his own judgment, 

but this involved his giving up the pastorate 

entirely, and leaving Pasco. 

Before he could make this decision known, 
Mr. Grafton had to pass through a conflict in 
his study, alone with his Bible and God. It is 
not always, not often, that the most devoted 

child of God yields at once in quiet submission 
to the overthrowing of all his own hopes and 


WHY? 


1 62 


plans. Edward Grafton did not. He loved the 
work of winning souls to Christ. He loved, 
with a rare love, the people of his first pastor- 
ate. He loved his Divine Master’s service in 
the ministry. Must he be laid aside from all 
this for a length of time ? Or for life ? 

It was not easy at first to say from the 
heart, “Thy will be done”; but there came to 
Mr. Grafton the feeling of entire submission to 
all the appointments of the Great Refiner. 

He then made known to his family and his 
church the fact that he must relinquish preach- 
ing for a while, because his health required him 
to rest. 

Mr. Grafton was most anxious to shield his lov- 
ing young wife from the knowledge of his true 
condition, for if it proved to be as the doctors 
thought, that rest would restore him to health, 
she need never learn of this danger to his life 
and to her happiness. 

The church was willing to grant Mr. Grafton 
a long vacation, but that would not meet the 
requirements of his case. He must give up all 
care of a church. He must leave Pasco. 

When his people were made to understand 
that this was inevitable, there was universal 
lamentation. The older members felt they would 
lose a son and the younger ones a brother, as 


TESTING TRIALS. 


163 


well as a pastor, who had led them all onward 
and upward in the Christian life. It was a sad 
sundering of ties between church and pastor. 

No one felt these trials more keenly than the 
pastor’s wife. Her loving heart was greatly 
alarmed at the first intimation of any danger to 
her husband, but he soon reassured her by his 
own hopeful words, that all he needed was a 
few months’ release from pastoral care and labor. 
Then her trial centred in leaving Pasco. 

The love of home had ever been very strong 
with Idnella Grafton. The circumstances that 
sent her away from the home of her childhood 
prepared her to cling more fondly to her own 
home, and now this- home was full of tender 
reminiscences of her life as wife and mother. 
Every part of it had grown into her very heart, 
How, then, could she leave it forever? 

How she clu^g to that circle of loving friends ! 
Why must the best ties so often be the 
soonest broken ? Ah ! is it not through this 
very process of forming and expanding earth’s 
purest affections, that our broken heart-tendrils 
become more firmly united to our Saviour-God? 
Yes, surely, this is the design of this crucible. 

There was one other link to hold Idnella 
Grafton to Pasco. The little grave in the cem- 
etery. Other dear children came to make glad 


“ WHY? 


164 


the parsonage home, but Willie was not forgot- 
ten. The solemn admonition, “Keep yourselves 
from idols,” came to the mother-heart when her 
first-born son was laid in the grave, but was 
forgotten again, and the home-circle filled her 
heart and absorbed all her thoughts. 

A Heavenly Father’s blessing rests in a pecul- 
iar manner upon a true, family life. The ten- 
der love in such a home always meets with His 
approbation, but He is not pleased when they 
are so satisfied in each other and in their 
earthly home that they forget Him, and the 
home He is preparing for His own in heaven. 
This calls for His discipline. He saw a “need 
be ” for chastening sorrow again for Idnella, 
and called her from the dear parsonage-home 
in Pasco. 

It was arranged that the family should go to 
the home in Quince, that Mother Grafton still 
owned, and when all were settled there Mr. 
Grafton went to visit college-friends in a dis- 
tant part of California. 

His longest visit was with one who was his 
room-mate in college. Though very unlike, there 
had been a close friendship between them at 
Yale. James Hamilton was active and wide- 
awake, but never made high attainments, except 
in the scientific department. In this he con- 


TESTING TRIALS. 


165 


sidered himself an adept. He was now propri- 
etor of an extensive ranch, — a bustling, busy- 
man, but still giving some attention to his 
favorite investigations into science. 

Mr. Hamilton once visited his friend in Pasco, 
and now he gave Mr. Grafton such a welcome 
that was a cordial to the weary-hearted minister. 
And as the weeks went by, how refreshing to 
Edward Grafton was this entire freedom from 
all care, and from all necessity for thought ; for 
a time to give himself up to the surroundings 
of another man’s busy, joyous home-life ! He 
became almost a boy again in feeling, as he 
rambled through the fields, and made acquaint- 
ance with the flocks in the pasture-lands, or 
reclining upon some of the uplands, watched the 
clouds and the birds in their rapid flight. 

Rest was what Mr. Grafton sought now, and he 
found it in these scenes of Nature, and in God; 
for where can rest be found without Him? 

Upon this theme, however, Mr. Hamilton had 

no sympathy with him, and it had not been 
referred to during this visit. But one afternoon 
the two gentlemen were sitting together upon 

the broad veranda. There could hardly be a 
more marked contrast than in the two men. 
Mr. Grafton was slight, spare, with a high, 

broad forehead ; his face was thin and pale now, 


“ WHY? 


1 66 


but his eyes were still full of the sparkle of 
intellect, and a smile always lurked about his 
mouth. Mr. Hamilton was a short, heavy-built 
man, his face full and florid with health, and 
his smiling was a loud and hearty laughter. 
This contrast between them seemed to suddenly 
attract the attention of Mr. Hamilton, and he 
said: — “My dear chum, the path you chose to 
follow when you left college don’t seem to 
agree with you so well as mine has done with 
me. I remember you as being then a stout, 
robust young man.” 

“Yes, I was strong to run the race then,” Mr. 
Grafton replied, with a smile that might have a 
little of regret in it. 

“You will remember, too, I suppose, that at 
that time I advised you to take up land out 
here, instead of following out your own plan. 
Won’t you do this now ? My word for it, you 
will find health and wealth in the work.” 

Mr. Grafton did not reply immediately. He 
understood this friend very well. He knew that 
while there was a real sympathy felt for him- 
self, yet that James Hamilton would be glad to 
bring up again some disputed points. But 
Edward Grafton did not care, in his present 
state of health, to renew the discussions that 
had aroused all of his energies while at Yale. 


TESTING TRIALS. 


1 67 


And yet he must vindicate his Master’s cause, 
and himself somewhat, so he replied : “ My dear 
friend, my views are unchanged from what they 
were when you and I talked them over in our 
college-days. I obeyed the Divine call to enter 
upon the work of preaching Christ. I have 

never regretted that I yielded to that call. I 

do not now. It is my chosen work. I love it, 
and when my health is sufficiently restored, I 
shall gladly return to it.” 

“ But, Grafton, with that difficulty of yours, 
how dare you ever attempt to preach again?” 

“ I hope to become able to do so without 
harm.” 

“ I remember your wife as a very delicate, 

sensitive woman. I should think that, for her 

sake, you would not risk the harm.” 

This was probing very deeply the heart of 
Mr. Grafton, but he replied in a gentle, low 
voice : “ I have, indeed, a wife so dear to me 

that I would willingly endure anything to spare 
her from suffering. But my duty to my God 
comes first. And if He takes me away from 
this life while I am doing His will, I can trust 
Him to take care of my precious wife and chil- 
dren.” 

This strong faith and love touched the heart 
of Mr. Hamilton more than he wished to have 


“ WHY? 


1 68 


seen, and he tried to conceal it under a com- 
batting sophistry. 

“Well, Grafton, you and I used to differ about 
those things. But we should differ more widely 
now, for my investigations have led me to 
regard it all as only a myth of some unhealthy 
brain.” 

A look of mingled surprise, grief, and assur- 
ance came into Mr. Grafton’s face, as he arose 
and laid one hand upon the shoulder of his 
friend, and there was in his voice that low, 
musical undertone that was so familiar to his 
hearers when his own feelings were most deeply 
touched. 

“ My , dear Hamilton, you and I never quar- 
reled in the old times at Yale. We will not 
contend now. But allow me to say this : I, too, 
have investigated, most thoroughly, since leaving 
college. I have gone over the whole ground of 
what is called modern science and philosophy, 
with a close research into its facts, side by side 
with a deeper study into all that pertains to the 
Bible and its Divine Author. And as sure as 
it is that the sun now shines upon us, there is 
a one God, and the Bible is His own revealed 
will ! And I find nothing against this belief in 
any realm of Nature, nor of true science. The 
Almighty Creator and His works are in unison 


TESTING TRIALS. 


169 


with each other, even though we may not see 
where they harmonize, in every particular point. 
Your standpoint, dear Hamilton, is not the true 
one. You will see this sometime. I pray God 
it may not then be too late !” 

James Hamilton could never forget these 
words, nor the tender pathos of his friend’s 
manner. This scene lingered in memory long 
after Edward Grafton had gone from earth, and 
until Mr. Hamilton received the truth as it is 
revealed in a Divine Saviour. 

When Mr. Grafton returned to Quince, he 
was so much better in health, that he ventured 
to supply the pulpit for awhile, but the heart- 
difficulty returned with increased force. 

Again physicians warned him not to preach, 
but to engage in some quiet, secular work. As 
Edward Grafton heard above the voice of man 
that of his Divine Master, he bowed in sub- 
mission. 

The truth became known to the loving wife 
and mother, that the strong arm and the de- 
voted heart, upon which they so fondly leaned, 
had become weak and liable to be snatched 
away from them at any moment. Would they 
ever find heart-rest again upon earth? No! — 
only as they sought and found it in God ! 


“ WHY ? 


170 


XXI. 

@71 • 

“And yet again 
That Elder Shepherd came, 

He claimed another lamb with sadder plaint.” 


piorr)e • • ^)©ra?©y$s. 


''P^/’HEN Mr. Grafton was once more appar- 
YY. ently in his usual health, he went to 
Sacramento and established himself in the count- 
ing-room of a friend, while his family were 
obliged to remain in Quince. 

Idnella and Mother Grafton were happy in 
each other, as they had ever been, but the pro- 
longed absence of the husband and son was like 
shutting out from them the warm, glad sun- 
shine. Idnella was not reconciled to have it so, 
but the Divine Guide was leading his unsub- 
missive child more gently than she realized at 
the time. He was teaching her to become 
accustomed to the sole watch-care of her chil- 
dren, and unconsciously to herself she was being 
prepared to live without the loving presence of 
her husband. 


A NEW HOME AND NEW SORROWS. 


171 


Two years passed away, and Mr. Grafton was 
again able to have his family with him. The 
new home was in a village, the most healthy 
location he could find, and within easy distance 
from the city for his own daily going and com- 
ing by railroad. 

Joyful was the reunion to the husband and 
wife, in a home of their own again! Their 
future was opening with bright hopes. Mr. Graf- 
ton’s health seemed rapidly returning, and he 
preached quite often. His physicians, however, 
warned him against assuming any pastoral charge 
for the present. There was a strong expectation 
that he might venture to do so before long, but 
for at least another year he must continue his 
quiet work in the counting-room. 

Ah ! the true family life is all that is left of 
the happiness of Eden, and to Idnella Grafton 
her home was an Eden of joy. 

The community was composed of rich and 
fashionable people, living in elegant mansions 
with extensive grounds. Each lady had her own 
circle of friends, and did not care to inquire about 
the strangers who came to live in the white cot- 
tage, almost hidden behind trees and flowers, and 
so Idnella was more isolated from society than 
she had ever been before. She was not depend- 
ent upon general society for happiness ; and with 


172 


WHY? 


her husband and children about her she was con- 
tent, and her heart satisfied. 

Ah, so entirely satisfied ! It was such a delight 
to be in her own home again, with her husband 
and children, that she wished for nothing more. 

Idnella was conscious of feeling, — “ Oh, if my 
husband and children could be with me always, 
I would not want to go to Heaven ! ” 

Ah ! most loving heart ! What could the Blessed 
Refiner do to wean her from this earth-clinging, 
and give her a sure heart -rest in Himself? 

It was in the spring that Mr. Grafton carried 
his family to their new home in the Villa. The 
summer proved to be more unhealthy than it 
was ever known to be in that region before. 
In the city a terrible epidemic raged. At the 
Villa there was sickness and death in almost 
every family. 

In the Grafton home there were three chil- 
dren. Oh ! how closely the mother-heart enfolded 
these darlings, as she heard of the fearful sick- 
ness about them, that the doctors were power- 
less to control ; but at last it visited her love- 
guarded home. The only son, Everett, was first 
taken, and then little Effa, the two-year-old 
pet. For many weeks they alternated between 
hope and fear, while day and night the delicate, 
over-wearied mother watched unaided and alone 


A NEW HOME AND NEW SORROWS. 


1 73 


over her precious ones. Circumstances compelled 
her to this lonely watching. Old friends were 
far away; the few new ones had their own sick 
and dying ones to attend. Hired help could not 
be obtained, and Mr. Grafton was obliged to 
remain closely confined to the city. Without any 
vacation, he had to go early and remain late, 
through all the summer-days. The close con- 
finement and new responsibilities in the business, 
added to his solicitude about his family, caused 
a return of the heart-disease. He did not tell 
his wife of this, as he hoped to be better 
and would not add to her anxiety. Idnella saw 
that Mr. Grafton was growing pale and thin, 
and trembled at any thought of danger to this 
precious one. She could not prevent the daily 
overtaxing, she could change none of the circum- 
stances; but she could insist that he should take 
his sleep and rest at night. Often, through the 
long night-hours, she hushed with a low, sweet 
lullaby the restlessness of her sick little ones, 
that her husband might not be disturbed. Weeks 
passed away ; the children recovered ; Mr. Grafton 
seemed well, and the mother-heart was at rest 
about them all. 

One Sabbath evening Mr. Grafton gathered his 
wife and children close about himself for the ac- 
customed Bibl e-reading and prayer. Afterwards, 


174 


WHY? 


they had a joyous time singing. Sickness had not 
permitted this before in the new home, but now 
the dear old hymns were sung with all the zest 
of former times. As the musical tenor of Mr. 
Grafton’s voice mingled with Idnella’s in the song, 
and she drew her children closer within her arms, 
her heart was full with a satisfied, all-pervading 
happiness. 

Again there swept through her soul that ab- 
sorbing, strangely tender earth-clinging, — “ Oh, 
if I could keep my precious husband and chil- 
dren always with me, I would not wish to go 
to Heaven ! ” 

This was the last singing with her husband 
upon earth. 

In the coming week little Effa was again very 
sick. When Mr. Grafton came at night from 
the city he was unusually exhausted by his 
labors in the office, and said, — 

“ I think we can do without the doctor until 
morning. Try again the remedies that relieved 
her before. Do not feel alarmed ; let us trust 
in God ; He will do all things well. See, she 
is now sleeping quietly. Try and rest some 
yourself, my darling wife.” 

But there was no rest for the anxious mother. 
The old remedies failed to relieve the little suf- 
ferer, and it became evident that the physician 


A NEW HOME AND NEW SORROWS. 


175 


was needed. He was a long distance away, and 
Idnella felt sure that her husband must not be 
aroused for that midnight-walk. 

Near them were the beautiful grounds of a 
wealthy family. The coachman’s house was in a 
lane at the end of Mr. Grafton’s garden. Idnella 
knew that this man was a husband and a father. 
He had horses in his care. The thought came 
suddenly to her, to go to this man and ask him, 
in the name of his own little ones, to take one 
of his horses and bring the doctor for her sick 
child. 

She left the moaning babe alone in her cradle, 
and hurried down the garden-path, pushed off 
from the fence some of the loose paling, and 
made her way into the lane. She succeeded in 
arousing the family, but her pleading request was 
refused. They did not wish to be troubled. 

Oh, the bitterness of being sick and among 
strangers ! 

What more could Idnella Grafton do for her 
child or her husband ? Pray she could not. Out 
there in the gloom and silence of night, the star 
of faith in God shone but dimly in her heart, 
that was now so weary and sad. 

Hastening back, she met her husband at the 
door. He was all ready for his long walk. Ah, 
if she could have spared her husband from that 


176 


WHY? 


fatal night-air walk ! As Mr. Grafton was leaving 
he said, • — 

“ I will have the doctor come immediately, but 
I will go into the city by the early train, get 
some medicine, and return to you. Keep up your 
brave courage a little longer, my darling wife ! 
We will soon have our little Effa well again.” 

The mother resumed her lonely watch, and 
slowly, — oh, so slowly, — the hours wore away. 
The physician did not come. She could do nothing 
more to relieve the increasing distress of the 
little sufferer. Morning came at last, and Mr. 
Grafton returned from the city. 

“What did the doctor say?” was his first ques- 
tion. 

“Oh! my dear, the doctor did not come!” 

“ Not come ? He promised me he would come 
at once. Well, I have brought a medicine that 
I think will surely help her.” 

This medicine was given, and the physician 
came, but it was too late. All remedies were 
useless now, for the Good Shepherd was taking 
this cherished lamb to Himself. 

Little Effa was a fair, gentle child, ever cling- 
ing fondly to her mother, and even in her suf- 
ferings she returned her mother’s caresses. In 
her greatest distress she was soothed to quiet- 
ness by her mother’s sweet lullaby. 


A NEW HOME AND NEW SORROWS. 


1 77 


Idnella sat by her dying child, soothing it with 
familiar melodies, and keeping one little hand 
within her own, while her heart continually said, 
“I cannot give her up! I cannot give her up!” 

As the last struggle with death came, the faint- 
ing mother was led away ; and stranger-hands 
cared for her babe until it was folded within the 
Saviour’s arms. 

At one o’clock Mr. Grafton whispered to his 
wife, — 

“ She is gone ! Our darling little Effa is safe 
with Jesus! Try, my precious wife, to feel will- 
ing to have it so! Think how she can never suf- 
fer again!” 

Ah ! yes, now the mourning mother can lean 
upon the loving sympathy of her husband. Alas ! 
for her, when the midnight-hour shall come again! 


i 7 8 


“ WHY? ’ 


XXII. 

^pt)e • GruciLle • Bap^crjs. 

“The Chastener’s hand is on us — we may weep, 

But not repine.” 

— Hemans. 

J T was a sorrowful home the morning after lit- 
tle Effa died. The mother wept in unsubmis- 
sive anguish. The children in sadness looked 
with strange wonder upon the little face, so still, 
so lovely, even in death. The father, pale yet 
calm, ministered to the comfort of his wife and 
children. After breakfast he gathered them close 
about him for the usual , family devotions. He 
read some of the most comforting promises in 
the Bible, and prayed with his family as they 
had never heard him pray before. He seemed, 
indeed, to enter into the very presence of Infi- 
nite Love. How earnestly, how tenderly, did he 
ask that Divine Love to come near and comfort 
and sustain his precious wife, and save his chil- 
dren ! “ Oh ! Father in Heaven, gather us all 
home at last with Thee, a whole family, safe in 
Heaven ! ” 


THE CRUCIBLE DARKENS. 


79 


In time of danger or of trouble every human 
being — however skeptical they may have been as 
to God and His truths — instinctively reaches out 
imploring hands to some Higher Power. God’s 
trusting ones know what inexpressible help and 
comfort are given to them through prayer. 

Edward Grafton was receiving this rich conso- 
lation, as he carried his loved ones into the Di- 
vine Presence — for the last time. He did not 
know that it was the last, — but God knew, and 
indited his prayer. The prayer was soothing to 
Idnella, and its remembrance would be precious 
in the coming years. But her comfort, was more 
in her husband than in her Saviour. He, in His 
pitiful love, will not forsake her. Even while 
leading His unsubmissive, weary one out into the 
bleak mountain-storm of life’s bitterest sorrows, 
He will remain with her to protect her from the 
death-chilling blasts until she willingly turns to 
find her all in Himself. 

It was arranged that the funeral of little Effa 
would be on the following morning. Mr. Grafton 
would take her to Quince, and have her laid by 
the side of his father. He had to go to the city 
to make necessary arrangements. 

“I will be gone only one hour; will return 
in the next train. Do not grieve too much 
over little Effa ; try to trust all with God. 


i8o 


“ WHY? 


Spare yourself, and rest, for my sake, dear 
one.” 

It was early morning when Mr. Grafton rode 
to the city. The cars passed through villages 
and parts of the city where the epidemic was 
raging fearfully. Upon reaching his place of busi- 
ness Mr. Grafton sent word to friends in the 
city, of the death of his child, inviting them to 
the funeral that evening, for he found that he 
must leave so soon in the morning that it would 
be necessary to have the service that evening. 
He also sent his mother a telegram, telling her 
that he was coming to Quince with the remains 
of little Effa. 

Before he was quite ready to return home, he 
was taken with the symptoms of the prevailing 
sickness. Immediately he made use of the best 
remedies the doctors prescribed, hoping soon to 
be able to return to his wi£e without giving her 
any new cause for alarm ; but he was not in a 
condition to ride home until the time of his usual 
return at night. He went then in company with 
many of the business men residing at the Villa. 
During this ride Mr. Grafton appeared to be in 
his usual health, entering into conversation with 
peculiar animation. 

As hour after hour came and went, Idnella no 
longer wept over her child, but became alarmed 


THE CRUCIBLE DARKENS. 


181 


about her husband. She knew that nothing but 
some insurmountable obstacle could keep him 
away from her on this sad day. She feared it 
was an attack of heart disease. How could she 
endure the suspense ? Oh ! for one friend that 
she could ask to go to the city and make in- 
quiries for her; but there was no one — not even 
a stranger. Every gentleman belonging to the 
Villa was at his place of business in the city. 

It was a bright, sunny day, but a dark shadow, 
like a cloud, enveloped Mrs. Grafton within its 
sombre folds. She did not weep ; she could not 
pray. In restless agitation she walked her room, 
listening for the coming train. When it passed 
on, she watched to hear the next, and the next, 
that she continually hoped would bring her hus- 
band home. 

Late in the afternoon a lady called. Idnella 
had never seen her before ; but she knew, by 
the name given, that she was the wife of one 
of the merchant-princes of the city, and her home 
one of the beautiful mansions near by. Introduc- 
ing herself, Mrs. De Strand said, — 

“ I was told that a minister’s family was in 
sorrow, and I have come to offer my sympathy, 
and any needed assistance.” 

Her gentle, cordial sympathy fell like a balm 
upon the fevered heart of the anxious wife. 


182 


“ WHY ? 


Her cordial manner made her appear to Idnella 
like an old friend coming to her in her sorrow. 

“ Oh ! if I could have known about you before, 
I would gladly have helped you in your sickness 
and sorrow. I have always called at this house 
in the summer, when we are out here, but my 
own family have been sick, and my house filled 
with friends from the city. Let me be as a sis- 
ter to you now, in this time of sorrow.” She came 
like an angel-visitant, when most needed. Surely 
Heaven must have sent this lovely woman to min- 
ister to Idnella in her dark and bitter grief. 

The long, sad day was closing. The hour had 
come which had always brought home the busi- 
ness men from the city. The whistle announced 
the approaching cars. In a few moments Mr. 
Grafton was seen coming up the walk to his 
home. Ah ! what a dark weight of dread was 
now lifted from the heart of his wife ! With the 
same quick step and smile as usual, he came to 
meet her. 

“ Have you been very anxious about me, dar- 
ling ? ” 

“ Anxious ! O, Edward, this has been the most 
terrible day of my life! But why did you stay?” 

“ There was some writing to be done.” 

How could they allow you to stay for that, 
was the thought that flashed through the mind 


THE CRUCIBLE DARKENS . 


183 


of Idnella. Ah ! little did she think that her 
husband by this reply was sparing her the knowl- 
edge of his illness in the city?" For the same 
reason he went on to say, — 

“ I took some refreshment this afternoon, and 
do not need any now. I found that I must 
leave here so early in the morning for Quince, 
that we must have the funeral this evening. 
Some friends from the city will come on the 
next train. I told the gentlemen in the cars 
with me. The minister, and a few friends about 
us here, will come in at half-past seven o’clock.” 

Mr. Grafton’s words indicated that he was in 
his usual health. The fears of his wife were all 
gone, now that he was with her again ; but 
there was a look in his face she could not un- 
derstand. She thought it must be exhaustion, 
and that he ought to have immediate rest, and 
she said, — 

“ My dear, you are very tired ; do go and lie 
down awhile, until our friends come.” 

Mr. Grafton looked at her a moment, and then 
with only a sad smile, turned and went up stairs. 
It was - so unlike her husband to be willing to 
rest, in the present circumstances, that for a mo- 
ment she looked at his retiring form with won- 
der. A thought that he was sick did not enter 
her mind, but she felt glad that he was willing 


WHY? 


184 


to rest. His safe return home had nerved up 
her own sinking energies, and without hesitation 
she went to meet the strange duties for a mourn- 
ing mother to assume. 

There had been no preparation in the house 
for the funeral service, and there was no one 
but the mother to direct in the needful arrange- 
ment of the rooms, and see to it that all things 
were in order. Idnella quietly instructed her 
house-maid what to do, and when this was done, 
she went with her two children, Emma and Ev- 
erett, up stairs. There she found her husband 
sick with symptoms of the epidemic. She gave 
him at once the remedies considered a certain 
relief. He was in no pain, only so tired, he said. 

“ Dear husband, you ought not to go down 
stairs again to-night. You must rest. Will it not 
be best for you to undress, and go to bed now?” 

Mr. Grafton made no objection to his wife’s 
suggestion. He yielded to her assistance, and 
soon laid his head upon the pillow with a look 
of quiet satisfaction. 

When Mrs. Grafton saw her husband and chil- 
dren in bed, apparently comfortable for the night, 
the thought for a moment flitted through her 
mind, “Must I leave them here and sit alone at 
little Effa’s funeral to-night ? O, must I bear it 
alone?” Only for one brief moment did she stop 


THE CRUCIBLE DARKENS. 


185 


to think of herself, and then she was called to 
go down stairs. The undertaker had come with 
the little casket, and the mother must give him 
some directions. But stranger hands arranged and 
placed the little one in the casket. How lovely 
she looked when all was done. Upon her breast, 
and about her head, kind, stranger hands had 
laid fresh flowers. Her eyes were pleasantly 
closed, as if in sleep. The fair, golden hair was 
smoothed back from the white forehead. The 
little cheek was sound as in health, and around 
the mouth lingered one of her sweet smiles. For 
a moment the mother bent in tears over her 
darling, kissing fondly the clear, marble brow. 


1 86 


“ WHY ? ” 


XXIII. 


<J\. • Kieiy • Gmicikl 


e. 


“‘Go! Go!’ I cried,— 

For once again that Shepherd laid His hand 
Upon the noblest of our household band. 

And yet, how wondrous sweet 
The look with which He heard my passionate cry, 

. . . . For him, O let me die! 

‘A little while,’ He said, with smile and sigh, 

‘Again to meet!’ 

• “Hopeless I fell, — 

And when I rose, — the light had burned so low, 

So faint, — I could not see my darling go ! < 

He had not bidden me farewell 7” 

*g|FTER a brief absence Idnella Grafton has- 
)I5{. tened back to her husband. She saw that 
he was no better. Again she hurried down stairs, 
sent for a physician, and prepared a new rem- 
edy for her husband. When she carried it to 
him he said to her, — 

“ My precious wife, you must not run up and 
down stairs so much.” 


\ 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE. 


187 


“ Oh, I shall do well enough when you are better. 
Do n’t think about me now, only try to get well.” 

Ah ! these words of anxious love were the last 
words between Idnella and her husband. Only 
once did he apparently recognize her afterwards. 
As she came to his bedside she met his eyes 
looking intently into her face. It was a look 
full of pitying tenderness and a yearning love. 
He must have felt conscious at that moment that 
he was to be taken from his family ; away from 
his helpless children ; his precious wife, in her 
delicate situation ! But how, in his own exhaus- 
tion, could he meet any word of farewell ? He 
was going with only that look of unutterable 
love, and a prayer to Heaven. 

Finally that prayer was heard and answered. 
What but a Divine power could keep Idnella 
through all those after scenes ? 

She had no thought of the true condition of 
her husband. She knew that his sickness was 
the terrible epidemic, but she had often heard 
the physicians say there was little danger if the 
disease was promptly met with efficient remedies. 
Surely the best remedies had immediately been 
given. Not one thought came into her mind that 
he would not be relieved. Her only thought was 
to procure, without delay, the remedies the phy- 
sicians called for. 


1 88 


WHY? 


Buoyed up by the expectation that her now 
suffering husband would very soon be better, she 
went herself with fleet steps to get the needed 
remedies. 

Ah ! how sadly did she mourn in after days, 
that she could not have known the truth until 
it was too late ! If she could have understood, 
at the moment, the meaning of that last look ! 
If she had only known that her precious husband 
was leaving her! That even then his feet were 
stepping into the river of death ! Oh ! if she 
could have had one parting word with her hus- 
band ! 

The Heavenly Refiner knew best how to take 
the loving wife safely through this “ fiery furnace.” 
He would place her within a “ cleft of the Rock,” 
and cover her by His hand. Hidden and shel- 
tered there, Idnella would not at first feel the 
full force of this terrible crucible. 

By almost indistinct replies, the physician 
learned of Mr. Grafton’s illness in the city, and 
from friends he learned that his patient had some 
disease of the heart. 

“Ah! that ride in the cars so soon was a fatal 
mistake, and the heart-difficulty interferes with 
the best 'effect of all remedies. In this relapse 
it is impossible to save him.” 

This the physician said in a private interview 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE. 


189 


with the city friends. It was decided, also, that 
this must be kept from Mr. Grafton’s wife as 
long as possible. 

The hour came for the funeral of little Effa, 
and the lower rooms were filled with stranger 
friends. Mr. Grafton had preached several times 
at the Villa, and had formed acquaintances with 
many business men. Now they came to the 
funeral of his child. 

In the room below Idnella met Mrs. De Strand, 
the lady who called that afternoon. She took 
Mrs. Grafton’s hand, and said, — 

“ I have a brother with me, who came from 
the city in the same car with your husband. 
My brother is a physician in the city, has had 
much experience in this epidemic, and has never 
lost a patient when remedies were used in season. 
If you and Doctor Malvern wish for his assist- 
ance, he will do all he can for your husband.” 

Doctor Malvern gladly welcomed so valuable 
an assistant. Idnella’s quick thought was, “Oh, 
he will surely give something to relieve my dar- 
ling soon ! ” 

Doctor Fleetwood understood at once that this 
was a hopeless case, yet he spared no effort to 
relieve the suffering man. The doctor had been 
sick himself with the same epidemic, and had 
left his patients to rest, but all through these 


WHY? 


I90 


hours he devoted himself to this dying stranger. 
He said afterwards, — 

“I know Mr. Grafton was a good man from 
what I saw of him in his sufferings. I would 
have sacrificed a fortune if I could have saved 
him.” 

The physicians sent the wife away from the 
room upon some fictitious errand. She was fear- 
fully excited, yet outwardly quiet and calm, and 
still feeling “ My precious husband will soon be 
better!” 

The friends had left them, all but a few whose 
sympathy was stronger than their fears. One of 
this number, — Mrs. De Strand, — came to Idnella, 
and taking her hand, whispered, “ Come with me, 
dear friend,” and led the way into the now 
deserted parlor. Closing the door, Mrs. De Strand 
said, — 

“ I think that God has answered my prayers 
sometimes. I want to pray with you now. Per- 
haps our Father in Heaven will hear me for 
your husband.” 

Mrs. Grafton had never seen this lady until 
that afternoon, but she knew she belonged to a 
circle of wealth and fashion ; and now to hear 
her speak of praying, and of answered prayer, 
seemed so strange that it penetrated even her 
now dazed mind with wonder. She listened in 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE. 


IQI 


silence, and in the now quiet room, where lay 
the coffined form of little Effa, they knelt side 
by side, and earnestly and tenderly Mrs. De 
Strand prayed for the wife and husband. 

Tender as the praying was it failed to soothe 
the soul that was going deeper into the crucible ; 
but jt was answered, as Idnella was kept in the 
coming agony. 

Mrs. Grafton returned to her husband, and 
found him in a quiet sleep. Passing her hand 
gently over his forehead, how her heart bounded 
with joy as she found that he was in a profuse 
perspiration ! She had so often heard it said 
that this was a sure indication that the patient 
was out of danger. Now her heart began to 
sing for gladness. Her precious husband was 
out of danger and resting so quietly ! All her 
solicitude, and her own sufferings and exhaustion, 
were forgotten in this great joy. 

In the fullest expectation that the doctors 
would confirm her glad hope, Idnella turned to 
the physician standing near, and asked him, 
“What do you think of him now?” 

The physician did not notice who the questioner 
was, nor indeed that the wife was in the room, 
or his answer would have been a different one. 
His reply was, — 

“There is no hope, — not the least.” 


192 


WHY? 


Oh, what a thunder-bolt to fall upon her 
quivering heart ! Just now it was overflowing 

with eager joy ; in one moment it is so crushed 
that not a word nor a moan could come from 
her marble lips. 

She sank into a chair, then started and knelt 
by her husband’s side. He was dying, — not 
asleep, — but unconscious of suffering, under the 
effect of chloroform. The moisture upon his 
forehead was only the dew of death. Dying ! 

Yet his wife, who loves him so fondly, kneek 
by him without any apparent emotion. No 
words, — no tears ; she is paralyzed in her 
whole being ! 

“ Oh, there are griefs for nature too intense, 

Whose first rude shock but stupifies the soul.” 

The physicians deeply regretted the mistake 
that so suddenly made known the truth to Mrs. 
Grafton. In a moment they lifted her up, and 
led her down stairs. She turned from them, 
passed out upon the veranda, and sat down. 

The night was dark and starless. The wind 

moaned low amid the foliage of a large tree 

that shaded the cottage. The lights from the 
parlor and from the chamber shone out into the 
darkness, lighting up the grass-plat where her 
children had often played in happy glee ; light- 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE. 


193 


ing up also the gravel walk and gate where she 
had so often awaited the return of her husband 
from the city. 

Now, little Effa was in her coffin in the par- 
lor ; her husband was in that lighted-up chamber 
dying. 

But through her bewildered brain only this 
thought kept whirling with almost a meaningless 
ring,— 

“ How terrible ! oh, how terrible ! oh, how 
terrible ! ” 

Soon she was lifted and taken within the 
house. Stimulants were given to her, soothing 
hands were laid upon her face, gentle words of 
sympathy were whispered in her ear ; but per- 
fectly still, without one sound from her closed 
lips, Idnella was like a marble form sitting in 
her chair. 

After a time the physicians led her back to 
the side of her unconscious husband. The sight 
of him aroused her from that strange apathy. 
The pale, stiff lips opened, and she murmured, — 

“ Oh, my darling ! my darling ! wake up, speak 
to me, oh, speak to me!” 

“Why!” she now exclaimed, wildly, — “Why 
cannot my husband speak to me again ? Oh, 
do arouse him, do arouse him, doctor ! ” 

At last the truth reached the heart of Idnella 


194 


WHY? 


Grafton that her husband was beyond the reach 
of her voice. 

Again she was taken down stairs, and laid 
upon her bed. Again she sprang up to return 
to her husband, but '■.he physician detained her. 

“ My child, you must keep quiet now ! ” 

“Doctor, I must go to my husband! He must 
speak to me once more ! I must go to him ! ” 

“Not yet, wait a little”; he said gently. 

Idnella was now fully conscious of the terrors 
of the hour. Little Effa was in her sealed-up 
coffin; her husband was dying, — he would soon 
be gone. 

She insisted pleadingly that she must return 
to her husband, but the physicians, for her own 
sake, firmly, but most kindly, held her back. 

It was indeed a fearful storm that now swept 
through the whole being of Idnella Grafton. 
The agony of the death-shadow grew darker 
about her soul. The physicians and friends feared 
for her life or her reason. 

Yet amid the blackness of the tempest, the 
“ Star of Bethlehem ” glimmered faintly into her 
soul. She was now unable to think connectedly, 
but she retained some memory of the only 
source of help, and her pleading cry was, — 

“ Will you not pray ? Oh, some one pray to 
God!” 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE . 


195 


There was no one with her that could pray. 
Yet she was not forsaken. Her most precious 
friend upon earth was taken from her, but the 
Divine Friend was still near, keeping her dis- 
tracted mind. 

The two physicians were both strangers to the 
family until that night. Both of them had been 
overtaxed day and night through the summer. 
Doctor Fleetwood was still weak from a recent 
illness himself, but he and Doctor Malvern gave 
their time and strength to Mr. Grafton and his 
wife. 

The distress of Mr. Grafton was terrible when 
he was not under the influence of chloroform. 

The physicians passed from one bedside to the 
other, trying to soothe the wife, and giving 
quieting remedies, until she was in that deep 
sleep that often comes through intense sor- 
row. 

To the "husband they continually administered 
chloroform to alleviate his increasing sufferings. 
Rapidly and fearfully Mr. Grafton sank under 
the power of the dreadful disease. 

Again it was one o’clock at night. At that 
still hour, with only the two physicians and the 
friend from the city beside him, Mr. Grafton 
breathed his last, and his freed soul followed 
little Effa to Heaven. 


196 


“ WHY? 


His two little ones were no doubt waiting to 
welcome him there. With what untold rapture 
he bows with them at the feet of his glorious, 
long-loved Saviour ! 

Oh, what wonderful happiness to see that 
Saviour, and live for ever in His immediate 
presence ! 

Is there one reader of these pages who will 
be inclined to question the utility or power of 
prayer, because Mr. Grafton was not saved from 
death, and his wife from sorrow ? 

If so, we ask their special attention to a few 
facts : — 

Is it not unusual for overworked doctors, with 
an extensive practice, and in times of a terrible 
epidemic, to give themselves for a night to a 
stranger who is hopelessly sick with a contagious 
disease ? 

Is there not a coincidence between prayer to 
God, and these two skillful physicians unusually 
and willingly devoting their energies to save Mr. 
Grafton from all possible suffering? They knew 
that he must die, and’ remained with him only 
to soften the pangs of death. 

Was there not answered prayer in behalf of 
the wife ? With her extremely sensitive nature, 
and clinging affections, what power but an Om- 
niscient one, carried her, and her unborn babe, 


A FIERY CRUCIBLE. 


19 7 


through scenes so terrible that strong men quailed 
even to look at them ? 

Will it be said, that it was her own fortitude 
and strength of mind ? This could not be, for 
she was utterly crushed in heart and mind. 

Was it a -comforting trust in God ? No ; for 
that was not felt then, or for a long time after. 
Was it the sympathy of friends? No earthly 
sympathy could reach the depths of that sorrow, 
and in vain will all the philosophy of the most 
self-sufficient scholar try to understand and solve 
this problem: — 

“ How was Idnella Grafton kept ? ” 

Yet, in the sublime truths of the Bible, all , 
this is explained. God did hear and answer, in 
His own best way, the prayers of Mr. Grafton 
and other friends. God does not always give the 
answer to prayer that our hearts wish for, but 
does give the best answer. 

Mr. Grafton’s work on earth closed, but by 
his patient bearing of great suffering, he com- 
pelled his physicians to give honor to his Divine 
Lord, and his suffering wife was sustained and 
sheltered in the Pavilion of Infinite Love. 


“ WHY? 


igS 


XXIV. 


Ir) • • Ri eiy • Buprjcccc. 


“But when ’t is past, — that still and speechless hour 
Of the sealed bosom, and the tearless eye, — 

Then the roused mind awakes with ten-fold power, 

To grasp the fullness of its agony.” 

Hemans. 

v 

I&X ORNING came again, fair and bright, but 
in the home of Mrs. Grafton there was 
stillness and desolation. 

What an awakening from her death-like sleep! 
Her husband gone! Utterly gone, — vanished out 
of sight ; even the precious form was hidden and 
sealed in the coffin, never more to be seen ! 

One morning he was giving tender care to his 
wife and children, the next he was in the Heav- 
enly “Mansions,” exulting in the bliss, and unit- 
ing in the songs of the angels, while his stricken 
wife sat alone between the caskets of her hus- 
band and child, a hot pressure upon her brain, 
and a tearless agony upon her heart. Yet she 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE . 


199 


was calm and still. No words ; no moaning ; no 
tears. 

Alone, without a comforter ! No one dared to 
come into the room so infected with the fatal 
disease. No one until Mrs. De Strand came 
again as a brave, ministering spirit. 

As she looked upon that white, tearless face, 
so full of suffering, yet lying so still upon the 
husband’s coffin, her own heart was deeply 
touched with wondering sympathy, and she 
thought, — “how is it that this most loving and 
delicate woman lives through such scenes as 
this ?” 

Sitting down by Idnella, Mrs. De Strand drew 
the hot head away from the coffin to her own 
breast. Mrs. De Strand spoke of many things, 
but it seemed like talking to a marble form, 
yet some words did penetrate Idnella’s crushed 
heart, giving to it a little needed cordial. 

Mrs. De Strand did not again leave Idnella 
until her husband and child were laid in the 
tomb; and she was once more in a deep sleep. 

Sabbath morning, one week later, Idnella heard 
the church-bells ringing, and they stirred faint 
memories of happy hours, — dim, faded memories, 
as of beautiful treasures, — that were hers in the 
long ago years. 

On this morning death was seeking to take 


200 


WHY? 


another of her darlings, but her benumbed heart 
had no fears, no mother-solicitude. She had suf- 
fered all that was possible, and could feel no 
added pain, if her precious family were all re- 
moved. 

Had not God placed her in “a cleft of the 
Rock,” until the storm was a little passed by ? 

Did not the Divine Refiner cover her heart 
with His own hand, so that the “fiery cruci- 
ble ” might not destroy the earthly casket of 
her being? 

Early that Sabbath morning, Everett, the only 
son, was taken with the same fearful disease 
that had removed his father and sister. The 
physician said that his life depended upon his 
being kept quiet ; but he was restless, and could 
not be quieted. 

He asked his mother to sing him to sleep. 
Idnella had sung often to soothe the other chil- 
dren ; could she sing now? Not in words. The 
lips that were frozen in that sudden agony were 
still too tightly compressed to move to any 
words. 

Her suffering little son looked up pleadingly 
and said, — 

“Please, mamma, sing to me now as you used 
to do when I was tired.” 

The mother laid her face close to his ear, 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE . 


201 


and murmured a low, familiar melody that 
soothed him into a quiet that kept his flutter- 
ing pulse until remedies could have the desired 
effect. 

In the same silent, unmoved manner, Idnella 
ministered instinctively to all the needs of her 
sick child. 

After the morning when she awoke to find 
her husband hidden from her sight, she had re- 
mained in that same marble-like apathy. The 
physicians, and other friends, were anxious to 
hurry her away from her sorrowful surroundings. 
As soon as Everett was strong enough to be 
removed, Idnella and her two remaining children 
were placed upon the steamboat that would take 
them to Quince. 

In April, Idnella Grafton left Quince with her 
husband, both indulging bright hopes of many 
joyful years together. 

In September she returned alone, in a dazed 
and crushed widowhood. A whirlwind of sorrow 
had swept oyer her, and every joy was withered. 

She did not yet discern anything clearly, but 
in an indistinct way knew all this, and that 
there was a tearless agony pressing upon her 
heart, as she looked out upon the moon-lit 
water, or walked the ladies’ saloon, the long 
night of her journey. t 


202 


WHY? 


Alone with her children, among strangers, she 
was still perfectly calm ; but her face revealed 
such a story of keen suffering, that one and 
another of the ladies ventured to ask her, — 

“ Have you not had some great sorrow ? ” 

The only answer that came from those white 
lips was a low “'Yes.” 

When Idnella reached the dear old home in 
Quince, and her husband’s mother welcomed her 
in tears, but with loving words, this paralysis 
passed away, and tears came to relieve the 
burdened heart and brain. Memory and thought 
were quickened, too, into all the realities of 
her bereavement. Idnella had been stunned, but 
with the return of full consciousness she must 
go through the anguish of giving up her hus- 
band. How she wept ! How strongly came again 
that intense desire to see him, even if only to 
look upon his face in the coffin. 

She did not speak of her trouble. None knew 
of her constant agony ; no one saw the widowed 
heart weep ; — no one but God. His presence 
and His words gave Idnella no comfort now. 

Will any one say that this is an argument 
against the truths of the Bible ? 

Nay, but these truths are most sublimely con- 
firmed in such hours of dark sorrow. 

Mrs. Grafton was still in the “fiery crucible.” 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE. 


203 


She was weak and bewildered through intense 
suffering. She could realize nothing but her own 
pain. 

The Almighty Refiner still sustained her that 
she should not entirely sink under this testing 
trial. 

What if she were not conscious of His pres- 
ence and loving care? Ocean storms are often 
too terrific for the trembling passengers to see, 
or know anything about the pilot who is calmly 
guiding them safely into the harbor. 

When Idnella’s wild yearning to see her hus- 
band was fast verging upon insanity, God per- 
mitted her to become quieted in pleasant dreams; 
her distracted mind, and tortured, bleeding heart 
was placed again amid all the pleasant surround- 
ings of her happy home. 

This was not spiritism which is from the arch 
enemy, who seeks to take the crown from the 
only Saviour, and bewilders souls only to destroy 
them. 

The Holy Spirit is the only Helper and Com- 
forter. 

Then came her little Eddie. He was a fair, 
sweet babe; but the poor mother gave no heed 
to him, nor to her two other darlings. In her 
physical prostration her bitter sorrow returned 
with added fury. More intensely than ever she 


204 


WHY? 


missed her husband. How she longed and list- 
ened for his voice, and his footstep, that could 
come to her no more ! 

Her thoughts flew back to the Villa ; and in 
every wakeful hour she lived over again those 
last terrible scenes. There were no words, or 
tears, or moaning ! No earthly friend could know 
how it was with her. Only the white face that 
rested upon the pillow, with constantly closed 
eyes, bore too plainly the impress of intense 
suffering ! 

What could friends say, or how comfort her ? 
Oh! if she would only talk to them, or they 
could see her weeping again ! 

But tears and prayers were daily given for her. 
Mother Grafton had gathered to her heart the 
dear family of her son. She was bowed with 
grief for his loss, but gave loving sympathy to 
Idnella. 

In the old home in Weston was the same lov- 
ing Mother Heyward, and the bethel chamber, 
hallowed by many years of prayer, now witnessed 
her strong crying* unto God that He would spare 
the life of her deeply-tried daughter ! 

Idnella did not wish to live, but longed to be 
laid in the grave beside her loved one. 

“ What did keep her alive ? ” 

Not her own will and effort at this time, most 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE. 


205 


certainly. Not the kind ministrations of skillful 
physicians, giving to her stimulating tonics. She 
had no physician, nor any remedies. 

God, who has all power, and is Infinite in 
Wisdom, in Holiness, in Mercy, and in Loving- 
kindness, kept her. His words are true: — 

“Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end 
of the world.” — Matt. 28:20. 

“Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not 
dismayed, for I am thy God : I will strengthen 
thee ; yea, I will help thee ; yea, I will uphold 
thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” 
— Isa. 41 : 10. 

This promise of God was fulfilled to Idnella, 
though she was as unconscious at the time as a 
sick babe in the loving arms that enfold it ; or as 
a storm-chilled lamb that lies insensible upon the 
shepherd’s shoulder. The watchful, tender care 
is just as real in her need as in that of the 
others. 

At last there was given to Idnella a thought 
of her children. 

“Oh! if I die what will become of them?” 

The mother-love was reviving in. her heart, 
and with that the feeling came, “I must try to 
live for my little children.” 

How could she live or gain strength, so long 
as her weak mind would not be controlled, but 


20 6 


“ WHY ? 


constantly flew back over all those distracting 
scenes at the Villa ? 

Her unseen Helper directed how it should be 
done. 

Ever since the birth of her babe, Idnella had 
been lying with a white, still face, and eyes 
always closed ; her brain never resting. Not one 
of her friends thought that she would live. 

Suddenly she asked for her Bible. 

“What! read when you are so weak?” 

By a touch of the Divine hand her mother- 
love was giving to her an upward impulse to live. 
The sad, tearless eyes began to look rapidly 
over the pages of His Word, her weak hands 
eagerly grasping the only means He suggested to 
help her to live. 

She could not remember one word the moment 
she raised her eyes from the page, but while 
reading God’s Word the first soothing fell upon 
the bleeding heart. Then the hard tension upon 
the brain gave way again to relieving tears. 

“Like as a father pitieth his children, so the 
Lord pitieth them that fear Him .” — Psalm 103:13. 

“The Lord is my shepherd.” “Be not far from 
me, O Lord.” “O my Strength, haste to help 
me.” “Keep me as the apple of the eye.” “Hide 
me under the shadow of Thy wings.” “For in 
the time of trouble He shall hide me in His 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE. 


20 7 


pavilion, in the secret of His tabernacle shall He 
hide me.” “God is my refuge and strength, a 
very present help in trouble.” “Wait on the Lord, 
be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine 
heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.” “I will lift 
up mine eyes to the hills, whence cometh my 
help. My help cometh from the Lord, who made 
Heaven and earth.” 

For a moment the weary, yet eager eyes lin- 
gered upon some words in Isaiah: — 

“For thy Maker is thy husband, the Lord of 
Hosts is his name, and thy Redeemer.” 

“For a small moment have I forsaken thee, 
but with great mercies will I gather thee.” 

“And a Man shall be as a Hiding Place from 
the wind, and a covert from the tempest ; as the 
shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” 

Then the thin, white hands hastened over the 
pages to find the words of that “Man,” Christ 
Jesus. 

“Come unto Me.” “I am the Way, the Truth, 
and the Life.” “I am with you alway.” “^feid 
I will pray the Father, and He shall give you 
another Comforter, that He may abide with you 
forever.” “Peace I leave with you; My peace 
I give unto you : not as the world giveth, give 
I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, 
neither let it be afraid.” “In my Father’s house 


208 


“ WHY? 


are many mansions.” “I go to prepare a place 
for you.” “I will come again and receive you 
unto Myself ; that where I am, there ye may be 
also.” 

Then the leaves were turned to Revelation, for 
the faint spirit longed to catch some glimpse of 
that place, in the Heavenly Mansions, and some 
glimpse of Heaven’s joys. 

“And I heard a voice from Heaven, as the 
voice of many waters ; and the voice of harpers 
harping with their harps.” “And they sung a 
new song, saying with a loud voice, Worthy is 
the Lamb that was slain, and has redeemed us 
unto God.” “Unto Him that loved us, and washed 
us in His own blood,” “be glory and dominion 
forever and ever.” “And I saw a great, white 
throne, and Him that sat upon it,” “and on His 
head were many crowns.” “And he shewed me 
a pure river of water of life.” 

A new theme came to thrill with a new hope 
the lonely wife-heart. 

Modern Spiritism was filling the land with 
stories of its marvelous manifestations. Many in- 
telligent and good people were blinded by their 
presumptuous assertions, so that without ques- 
tioning or sufficient investigation, they accepted it 
as a truth that, the spirits of friends returned 
to earth, and could communicate with them. 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE. 


209 


“ How wonderful ! ” “ How very beautiful it is, that 
mourning hearts can be comforted in this way ! ” 
This was what many began to say, but they 
were of the class who never stop to search be- 
low the surface of a new wonder. They failed 
to see that in all this there was left out all 
thought and all need of God, as the Holy Com- 
forter. 

Step by step it was unfolded to those who 
followed the teachings of Spiritism, that the 
friends in the spirit-world were to aid those upon 
earth to reach the Better Land, and there was 
no need of an Almighty Saviour. 

Ah ! those who accepted this teaching had for- 
gotten about the great enemy, who uses his de- 
moniacal power to destroy every human soul. 
Or perhaps he had influenced them to disbe- 
lieve in his own existence. He has done this 
with many. 

The bewildering mazes of modern Spiritism are 
one of his grand devices. He comes to a heart 
that is mourning the death of a loved one ; comes 
so softly, that even the Christian heart will not 
at first be alarmed by his presence ; he whispers 
gently, “Your friend is not gone, but is still 
with you.’’ 

The heart, now doubly weak through suffering, 
grasps eagerly at this thought ; then Satan leads 


210 


« WHY?” 


it on, and entirely away from the Only and Al- 
mighty Redeemer and Comforter. 

It is in this way that the arch enemy of all 
humanity is striving to snatch the conquering 
crown from Christ Jesus, and place it upon his 
own brow. 

He came to Mrs. Grafton with the insinuating 
thought that her husband might be near to her, 
and might give to her some token of his pres- 
ence. 

She had leaned so entirely upon her husband 
for all things, and it was so hard for her to do 
without his guidance. Oh ! if she could only 
believe, — feel that his spirit could come back to 
her! 

“It is true! I know it is true!” said one 
who wished much to help her in her sorrow. 

“But I do not feel that it is true,” she replied. 
“Yet, if it can be so, if I can know that my hus- 
band is sometimes near to me, how it will com- 
fort me ! ” 

“Others have received that comfort from their 
friends. Why not you ? You better read some 
of the wonderful manifestations.” 

Idnella consented to do so, and read so-called 
messages from the spirit -world, and their de- 
scriptions of the great “hereafter.” 

They were full of a dreamy sunshine, and of 


IN THE FIERY FURNACE. 


211 


flowers ; of roaming spirits, each seeking pleasure 
in his own way ; but there was nothing of God 
as the Centre of Heaven’s joys! Nothing of Christ, 
the only Saviour! 

Could Idnella Grafton accept such teachings ? 
Oh! no! She was too well-informed in God’s 
eternal truths. 

Though her weak, suffering heart yearned for 
just this comforting, — to feel her husband near 
to her, — yet she could not believe in Spiritism. 
It discarded the Divine Saviour and the Bible. 
In Him and His Word was her only reliance ; 
though she was too bewildered to realize all its 
comfort. 


212 


“ why? 


XXV. 

Eifflc- Eddie. 


“And so, I gave thee up, 

My darling one ! With tearful, silent trust, 
Relinquished thee to Him who surely keeps 
What is committed to Him.” 

t FTER some months, Mrs. Grafton again as* 
sumed the care of her children. Her mother- 
love was the motive-power God used to cause 
her to struggle back from the grave, and now 
she clasped her fatherless darlings very closely, 
with the feeling, “I will try to live, and be 
strong, to care for my precious ones.” 

The widowed heart was still bleeding. The 
pale face still bore the impress of suffering. 
Friends said of her, “She will never smile again.” 

It was so hard to take up life’s duties with- 
out the loving presence that had been so much 
to her! How could she live on and on without 
him ? 

The Divine Friend who had been sustaining 
her through all this suffering, began to reveal 


LITTLE EDDIE. 


21 3 


Himself through the enveloping clouds. These 
words reached her heart, — 

“Be of good cheer,— it is I, — be not afraid.” 

It was her Saviour’s voice. She had lovecL 
Him in her girlhood. She loved Him in her 
happy life, as wife and mother ; but she knew, 
now, that she had loved her husband more. 

Though Christ is Divine, He is human, too, 
and has gentle tenderness for those who need 
His chastening. Ah ! how pitifully has He watched 
this soul, suffering in His refining crucible! 

There were new blessings awaiting Idnella, 
from the Lord. As time passed, she felt that the 
Saviour was drawing her nearer to Himself. 

She still suffered intensely at times, but grad- 
ually there was unfolded to her soul the price- 
less value of the Saviour’s love, as she never 
had seen it before. With a faith that was new 
to her, she saw God as her Father, Saviour, 
Comforter; Heaven was to her a home now! 
Her husband and two children were there, and 
Jesus, her Living, Ever-present Friend! 

Dear home in Heaven! How pure, how glo- 
rious, how winning it seemed, as the eye of 
faith caught a glimpse of its untold joys! 

At length Idnella was peaceful and happy, and 
willing to .think of her husband as far away in 
the “many mansions.” 


214 


“ WHY? 


A widow! How pitifully Idnella had always 
looked upon others in widowhood ! How her 
heart quivered when she first heard it applied 
to herself! Could it be that she was drinking 
of that same bitter cup? Ah! yes, indeed! Her 
husband’s loving protection was gone, and she 
stood alone, to meet the hardships of life ; but 
in this crucible she had been brought so near 
to the Divine Refiner, that she now trusted in 
His protection as never before. 

In a strength and courage that God only gave 
to her, Idnella began caring for her children. 

They were all to remain at the homestead, 
but Idnella knew that Mother Grafton needed 
quiet ; so she decided to make her own home in 
one part of the house, and there the young 
mother gathered her three darlings very closely 
to her heart. How precious they were to her! 
What a comfort ! It was their pleading help- 
lessness that first aroused her out of her 
bitter grief, and now their sweet voices cheered 
her. 

For the sake of her children, Idnella put away 
tears from her face and heart as fast as possi- 
ble, that there might be sunshine in the home 
for them. For them she raised again the dear 
family-altar, that for herself had seemed forever 
broken down. For the good of her little ones 


LITTLE EDDIE. 


215 


Idnella compelled herself to sing again, and teach 
them to sing with her. 

No one but a widowed mother can know, fully, 
how soothing are little, happy voices singing, or 
little ones listening eagerly, with sparkling eyes, 
to stories and Bible questions. 

To an unselfish mother there is compensation 
for all effort, in the love of her children. To 
Idnella Grafton this was given in full measure. 

Circumstances compelled Mrs. Grafton to do 
whatever she could to support her children. Her 
weak arm was nerved up for wonderful effort to 
shield them from every want. At times she 
grew faint under her load of care and labor, 
but then came that welcome voice, saying, “It 
is I, — be not afraid!” “My grace is sufficient 
for thee!” “I will never leave thee, — nor for- 
sake ! ” 

Three years after Mr. Grafton’s death, Idnella 
gathered her children about her in their home, 
one Sabbath after church-service, for the accus- 
tomed Bible questions, hymns, and prayer. 

What a pleasant and precious little group cir- 
cled about the mother! Emma, with her spark- 
ling eyes, Everett, and Eddie, — little Eddie, the 
babe that came to her arms when her heart 
was breaking in her great sorrow ! He came 
like a pure, sweet spirit of comfort, in the first 


2 16 


WHY? 


weeks of his mother’s widowhood, and his first 
intelligent look and smile, so like her husband’s, 
startled the mother with a strangely sad pleasure. 

As the months and years passed on it seemed 
that his special mission was to comfort his 
mother. A very sensitive, but happy child, lovely 
and loving. His active little form was ever 
dancing about his mother, and his sweet voice 
constantly repeating, — 

“Me love mamma!” “Me do love mamma!” 

And again Idnella was holding an idol within 
her heart, — her little Eddie. 

This Sabbath evening Idnella and her children 
sang a new hymn. The children sang joyously. 
Little Eddie traced the words with his tiny fin- 
ger, singing loud and sweet. 

There was something in the melody of the 
little voices, and the words, so uplifting that 
Idnella felt Heaven and its songs brought very 
near to her. 

Surely, the compassionate Father does at times 
permit such glimpses to brighten, by memory ^ 
some dark coming trial. So this sweet singing 
with her darlings, and that glimpse of Heaven, 
was a precious solace to Idnella in after days. 

Little Eddie had been like a sun-beam in the 
home, and a ministering angel of comfort to his 
sad mother. His mission upon earth was closing. 


LITTLE EDDIE. 


217 


The Good Shepherd would take the lovely, sen- 
sitive lamb away from the cold, bleak hills of 
the earthly life, into the shelter of the Heavenly 
Fold. 

Very suddenly he was taken with croup, and 
in a few hours his merry laugh was hushed, his 
sweet voice stilled, his bright, dark eyes closed 
in death. 

At first the fond mother could not believe 
that this darling would be taken from her cling- 
ing arms. When she fled to her closet to pray 
that this precious one might be relieved soon, 
and be restored to health, she found that she 
could not offer that prayer ; her lips seemed 
closed against asking for his life, and she could 
only ask God that her darling might not suffer 
long. This prayer was heard and answered. Lit- 
tle Eddie had been in terrible distress. When 
Idnella returned from her closet he was quiet, 
and his large, dark eyes greeted her with one of 
his loving looks. Idnella was very calm then, 
for she was leaning upon an Almighty Helper. 
She knew that her precious child must die, but 
she did not think he was going so soon. He 
had suffered so she did not expect he could talk, 
but to comfort him and relieve her own aching 
heart she began to talk: — 

“Mamma is so sorry little Eddie has suffered 


21 8 


“ WHY ? 


so, but he will not suffer much longer. He is 
going to see our dear Saviour.” 

To her surprise the dear child replied, and in 
his natural tone of voice. O, what a comfort to 
hear his sweet voice again ! 

“Talk more about it mamma,” he said. 

“Yes, my darling Eddie is going to live with 
our dear Saviour. He will take care of you.” 

“I want to go now, mamma.” 

“Oh, my precious child! you will go soon! 
O, too soon! It will tear mamma’s heart to 
part with you, dear, precious one.” 

“I want mamma should go, too.” 

“Mamma will come, sometime, darling.” 

Looking into his mother’s face, he said, in his 
very earnest way, — 

“I want mamma should come now.” 

Never before had Idnella Grafton gone with 
her loved ones down to death. Now her Divine 
Friend helped her to have this quiet, loving 
talk, and go with her darling down to the dark 
valley. 

A moment after his last word, little Eddie 
was in that valley, but he started back to find 
mamma. 

He rose up upon one elbow, and reached out 
his other arm to his mother. She took the lit- 
tle, cold hand within her own, and said, — 


LITTLE EDDIE. 


219 


“What is it, darling? What can mamma do?” 

It was only that he wanted to “find mamma.” 
Then he lay back upon the pillow, and said, — 

“Come mamma, — Come mamma,” — until the 
sweet, faint voice was lost upon the farther 
shore. 

Precious one ! he had gone into the blessed 
life with the Saviour. Idnella knew this was so, 
but her mother-heart drooped sadly for a time. 
How could she help it when she missed her 
little comforter so much, in the stillness and 
loneliness of her own sick-room, in those after 
days ? 

“ ’T is the work 

Of many a dark hour, and many a prayer, 

To bring the heart back from a dear one gone. 

In a letter to her mother, Idnella wrote, — 

“Yes, the cup of sorrow, of which I have drank 
so deeply, is again pressed to my lips. It is, as 
ever, a very bitter cup. I have suffered intensely 
again, for the wounds made by my husband’s death 
are all opened afresh in losing my little Eddie. 

“I am comforted with the thought that with his 
very sensitive and loving nature, it is best for him 
to be taken to Heaven now, and that he can never 
suffer again. As I think how he loved music and 
singing, and that now he is singing in the presence 
of Jesus, how can I weep for him? 


220 


“ WHY? 


“ May I not believe that his father welcomed the 
little spirit as he tremblingly lost sight of mamma in 
the dark valley ? ” 

I must believe that loved ones do recognize 
and welcome each other into that home. Our 
dear ones are not lost by death, but only gone 
a little time before us, to that home with God. 

Yes, comfort will come to all who trust in 
God. 

There is no evil done to those whom God 
takes to dwell with Himself. Our selfish love 
would keep them to walk with us life’s toilsome 
way, but when the eye of faith can follow them 
into Heaven, and unfolds to us a glimpse of 
that perfect life with Jesus, then the soul is 
comforted. 

Thus was the mother comforted, until at last 
she rejoiced in thinking of little Eddie as of 
one more treasure safe. 

What greater blessing could she ask for her 
darlings, than to be in Heaven, with Jesus? 


r 


ESQUIRE BELDEN. 


221 


XXVI. 


E 




ire 


• Ji>el<zl 


er ). 


“Lead Thou me on; there is no Guide beside Thee, 

No sure, unfailing beacon but Thine own.” 

And Thou wilt guide, 

For thou hast promised never to forsake.” 

f OR a time Idnella Grafton bowed beneath her 
new sorrow, but rose above it with a stronger 
faith in God. Her step in the path in which 
He chose to lead her, became more unfaltering, 
and submissive. Heaven was becoming more 
home-like, and Mrs. Grafton more and more con- 
scious of the presence of One able and willing 
to uphold and comfort. In Him she trusted, 
and to Him she looked for help to train aright 
the two darling children left to her. When they 
both gave their young hearts to the Saviour she 
felt that her cup of joy was full. With new 
energy her frail arm was nerved up to toil for 
them, and shield them as long as possible in 
her own care, and give to them the education 
they needed. 


222 


“ WHY? 


Years passed away. 

Among the few friends of Mrs. Grafton’s girl- 
life, that the changes of years had left in Quince, 
no one met her with more deference than Law- 
yer Belden, — the Laren Belden of the olden 
time. His stylish mansion was not far from the 
Grafton home, yet he and Idnella met only upon 
the street in passing. His hat was always lifted, 
and his hand held out *to her in friendly recog- 
nition. As her Uncle Dudley’s family were all 
gone, Mr. Belden was the only one left of 
Idnella’s first home in California, and she was 
not unwilling to meet him in this way. 

Perhaps, however, there was more of a cor- 
diality in her own gentle greeting than she was 
aware of, for Esquire Belden began to question 
with himself whether he might not, after all, 
win this woman for his wife. 

Esquire Belden married, some years before, a 
woman of fashion and pleasure. She did not care 
for love, nor for religion, so she did not trouble 
him about those things. If he supplied her with 
sufficient money, that was all she required of 
her husband. This experience with her as a wife 
was not calculated to elevate his ideas of women, 
or of marriage, and he felt little regret when 
she died. 

His business did not absorb his mind; his large, 


ESQUIRE BELDEJV. 


223 


childless home was a dull place, and there had 
been more regard for Idnella Heyward in his 
heart than he had ever been willing to acknowl- 
edge to himself. 

When Mrs. Grafton returned to Quince, so 
terribly crushed by grief, Esquire Belden felt his 
sympathy aroused more than ever in his life 
before. As he watched her in the after years, 
struggling up above her sorrow and the difficul- 
ties in her path, and with a serene, yet pale 
face, labor to take care of her children, he felt 
a strong desire to take care of her himself, but 
he had no intention of taking her children. No! 
he was not to be burdened with the children of 
Edward Grafton. The mother should be his wife 
sometime, if he could possibly bring it about. 
As soon as her children were old enough to 
work, and support themselves, he would help 
them to situations, and then he would take 
the mother into his home. It was true that he 
could not now expect to hear the song and 
ringing laugh of Idnella Heyward’s girlhood, that 
once charmed him ; but he would enjoy having 
that dignified, quiet, low-voiced woman sitting at 
his table, and presiding in his home. It would, 
indeed, be something of a triumph if after all 
the barriers that had come in the way, he 
should yet be able to secure her as his own. 


224 


WHY? 


These were some of Esquire Belden’s cogita- 
tions, but he made no attempt for a long time 
to carry out his intentions. He was waiting till 
Idnella’s children were cider. 

Two years after little Eddie went to Heaven, 
and the mother’s heart was at rest about him, 
and she and her Emma and Everett were cling- 
ing very closely together, helping each other on 
in a path that is never an easy one to the 
widow and fatherless, Esquire Belden made his 
first call. There was more of embarrassment 
than was ever seen before in Lawyer Belden, 
as he , met Mrs. Grafton’s quiet reception. 

Without much preface he made know then 
object of his call, by asking Idnella if she did not 
wish to find a good situation for her son ? 

This question, with all that it implied, came 
to the mother-heart as an alarm. What, her 
little son of only eleven years go out to meet 
the rough perils of business life ? She knew this 
must come to him sometime, but not yet, — no, 
not yet. 

Idnella’s thoughts were working rapidly, as 
Esquire Belden continued : 

“A friend of mine wishes a boy in his store. 

I thought perhaps you would like to secure the 
place for your Everett. He seems to be a nice boy, 
and I think my friend will be pleased with him.” 


ESQUIRE BELDEN. 


225 


Idnella was now prepared to reply. 

“Thank you, Esquire Belden, for your kind- 
ness, but I have no wish for my son to go 
into a store now, or any time hereafter.” 

“What employment, then, do you wish for 
him ? ” 

“At present only what he is now doing, help- 
ing me and making rapid progress in his stud- 
ies. It is my intention to keep both of my 
children in school as long as possible, and pre- 
pare them for life’s noblest work.” 

“But, Mrs. Grafton, this will be too great a 
tax upon yourself. Some of your friends feel 
that you ought to be relieved from this care and 
toil for your children.” 

This was something altogether new to Idnella, 
and it stirred her pure motherhood, giving to 
her voice a tone of surprise and pathos as she 
said, — v 

“Any friend who really has that feeling can- 
not know much about me. To care for and 
work for my children is no task to me. I 
would not be relieved from it if I could. My 
children are my best earthly comfort and joy. 
While I can, I most willingly give my time 
and strength to promote their best interests.” 

This man of the world, — profound lawyer 
though he was, — knew not how to meet this 


226 


“ WHY 


unselfish mother. He had, from early manhood, 
allowed his mind to become so imbued with 
materialistic ideas and modern philosophy, that 
heart-ties, and the best of home-life, were a sealed 
volume to him. This wonderful mother-love was 
all a mystery to him, for he had no remem- 
brance of his own mother. Perhaps this was 
the secret of his predominating spirit of cynicism. 

Though Esquire Belden did not understand this 
woman, he did not mean to give her up. Indeed, 
her very self-abnegation only increased his deter- 
mination to secure her for . himself. 

There appeared now but one way for him, 
and that to tell her plainly what he wanted. 
As Esquire Belden had never studied the art of 
refinement it could not be expected of him now, 
and so his next proposition came as unlooked- 
for to Idnella as had the first. 

“Well, Mrs. Grafton, my real object in calling 
upon you is to ask if you will not become my 
wife ?” 

The look of startled pain that came into Id- 
nella’s face would have deterred most men from, 
urging their request, but Esquire Belden was not 
to be deterred. 

He never was more resolved to obtain his case 
in some jury court, than he was at this moment 
to win this woman. H6 began a rapid recital 


i 


ESQUIRE BEL DEN. 


227 


of his wealth, his social position, with all the 
allurements of his elegant home, and all would 
be her own as his wife. 

Ah! what memories of a noble, true love, — a 
joyous home, of protecting tenderness, — rushed 
back to the heart of his silent listener! 

Could Idnella open her lips to reply to this 
man ? Could she ever lift the veil from the 
cherished past, and tell him that the memory of 
her husband’s love was more to her than wealth, 
or any station in life? No! she could not speak 
of these heart-treasures. 

Yet she must make Esquire Belden in some 
way understand that his request was a hopeless 
one. 

She felt sorry for him, if he really cared for 
her. “No true woman ever lightly rejects the 
honest love of a manly heart.” 

Mrs. Grafton was not sure that this man had 
any real love for her, but she would not give 
him unnecessary humiliation in rejecting his offer, 
so her voice was gently kind as she said, — 

“ Esquire Belden, I appreciate your offer, yet 
my only reply is, that I can never become your 
wife.” 

He could not believe it possible that this frail 
woman, — without a home of her own, and with 
little means, — really meant to refuse his flatter- 


228 


“ WBY? 


ing offer, so again he began to speak of the 
many attractions of his home, but he was inter- 
rupted. 

“Esquire Belden do not urge this matter. 
Nothing will change my mind. I cannot con- 
sent to your wishes.” 

The calm decision of her manner irritated him, 
arousing the ungentle feelings most natural to 
him. 

“Well, Mrs. Grafton, will you tell me why 
you reject this chance to obtain a home of your 
own? Other women would take it without hesi- 
tation, I know, and you are not independent of 
your friends, I am thinking.” 

This ungentlemanly allusion to her home with 
Mother Grafton was a keen thrust upon* her 
sensitive nature, but she replied very quietly, — 

“ I have many friends, and they are all kind, 
but I do not depend upon any earthly friend. 
My trust is in God and His promises, and some- 
time my son will help me to make a home of 
our own.” 

“And can you tell me what your God has 
ever done for you, that you talk of trusting 
Him? His promises, — what good do they afford 
you? You seem to have only trouble and pov- 
erty. 

“And you flatter yourself that your son will 


ESQUIRE BELDEN. 


229 


make a home for you, and always be to you 
the same that he is now. When he comes to 
manhood and has a wife, you will then find that 
his mother has little place in his care. That is 
the way of the world. When that time comes 
you may regret it if you refuse me now.” 

While saying this he was watching Idnella, as 
she sat by the table, with her face hidden 
within her hands. Some feeling, perhaps of pity, 
but more likely a determination to gain his own 
will, caused a change in his voice as he went 
on, — 

“And I will renew my offer to give you a 
home. Will you not consent to become my 
wife ?” 

This unkindness toward herself, and his hard 
irreverence toward the Heavenly Friend in whom 
she so trusted, had grieved Idnella into silence. 
Memories of those happy days, when shielded 
by her husband’s love, came back like heavy 
waves, and she bowed her face within her con- 
cealing hands. It was not in vain that a prayer 
went from her heart to God, for now she was 
sufficiently nerved up to meet this hard man. 

“Esquire Belden, years ago you asked me the 
same question you have now. My answer to you 
then was, ‘I can never give my heart nor hand 
to one who disbelieves in God, and rejects the 


230 


WHY? 


Bible.’ This, now, with other reasons, compels 
me to refuse you. 

“You ask me to tell you what God has done 
for me, that I should trust Him? I can assure 
you that He has given to me, and is still giv- 
ing, precious blessings in my family. He has 
taken some of them to His home in Heaven. 
They are not lost to me. 

“ God saw that I needed many sorrows to 
make me willing to find my best joys in Him. 
He gives to me now precious blessings in Him- 
self, — in a faith that lifts me above the sorrows 
of my earthly life ; a hope that reaches beyond 
the confines of this world, into His glorious 
presence in Heaven. 

“As to my son, he is a noble boy. I have 
no fear that he will ever become other than the 
same loving son to his mother that he is now. 
Our home will be together while life lasts. I 
wish for no other.” 

Esquire Belden had now received a decisive 
answer, but his baffled will would not permit 
him to go without leaving a stinging word be- 
hind, and in these words the same Laren Bel- 
den of former years was fully revealed. 

“Well, Madam, trust in your God if you like, 
but He will not save you from trouble. Cling 
to your boy too, if you will, and spend your 


ESQUIRE BELDEN. 


231 


strength for him, but he will not cling to you 
when other interests come to fill his mind. I 
would have taken care of you for life ; now I 
will not ever recognize you again as an acquaint- 
ance. You and I must hereafter be entire stran- 
gers. Good evening, Madam.” 

This interview left a sadness upon Idnella 
Grafton, for it had made her feel keenly her 
lack of any earthly shielding in her widowed 
isolation. There were hours of weeping prayer 
before she regained her usual calm trust in God, 
and with it she received a renewed uplifting 
into the Divine presence. 


232 


“ why? 


XXVII. 


Ir) • ft)e • • ]j<a:r)c3 . 


HE is the sickest patient that I ever had, 
that lived. She is very near death ; only 
just alive.” 

For many weeks the physician gave these re- 
plies to the anxious friends of Idnella Grafton. 

For some years Idnella had been giving her- 
self to promote the good of others. Sometimes 
in the interest of the church, or to comfort sad 
ones in their trouble, or ministering to Mother 
Grafton, and at all times bearing upon her heart 
the best interest of her children. During the 
past summer they all went to Pasco. This was 
Idnella’s first visit since her husband’s death. 
Indeed, it was the first time since she left the 
parsonage home. 

As she met those friends, and the associations 
of her first home with her husband, how vividly 
the dear old life filled her mind! It was very 
pleasant to Idnella to meet these friends, and 



IN THE BORDER LANDS. 


233 


happy associations, and she returned to Quince 
much refreshed. 

Again she resumed her needle, hoping by rapid 
sewing to procure home comforts for the winter. 
Her children entered school with eager ambition 
to accomplish much in their studies before spring 
came again. They were loving children, indulg- 
ing many bright anticipations for the future, when 
they would take all care of themselves, and of 
mother. 

What a blessing are good children! How ten- 
derly soothing a daughter’s ministrations ; and the 
loving care of a son for his mother, is there 

anything in life more beautiful ? In this world 

of many changes, can man find a love more 

unchangeable and tender than a mother’s ? 

To Mrs. Grafton was given the blessing of 
good children, and the winter opened with bright 
anticipations. 

Soon after Everett was taken very ill, and 
again his mother was called to watch day and 
night with intense solicitude. For three weeks 
she did not sleep, but when her son was out 

of danger, and growing strong again, then the 
wrought-up tension that had nerved the mother 
in her loving effort for his life gave way, and 
she was prostrated. 

How very weak she became in a few hours, 


234 


“ WHY? 


and for many weeks she lingered, nigh unto 
death. 

No one told Idnella that her illness was a dan- 
gerous one, and that they thought that she must 
die, but in the strange weakness she felt it 
must be death. She was too faint to feel or to 
think, but there came a consciousness that she 
had now passed through all the wilderness-way 
of this life. Earth was growing dim, and seemed 
far away. It was very still down in the border- 
land, where she was laid, close by the river of 
death. That river did not seem deep or wide. 
Heaven seemed only a few steps across, and 
concealed by a light, misty cloud. 

Life appeared to be left behind forever. Even 
her precious children did not move her heart 
now to one earthly thought. The tender mother- 
love was still the same ; but its intense, untiring 
watch-care was closing with her life. 

The dear ones gone before ; how often as she 
wept over their graves had she been comforted 
by the thought, “I shall see them again. They 
will welcome me as I enter Heaven.” This 
hope had cheered many of her lonely hours, 
and the Saviour’s own words encouraged this 
hope of meeting in Heaven Christian friends of 
earth. Not only to see “Abraham, and Isaac, 
and Jacob,” but also to greet again the loved 


IN THE BORDER LAND. 


235 


ones of our own life. Heaven is not merely a 
meeting-place for friends. To meet Him who 
is Lord of all, and who only can redeem souls 
for immortal life ; to see His face in joy, and 
receive His welcome to an everlasting happiness 
in His presence ; this is the true and absorbing 
attraction of that perfect life in Heaven. 

This truth Idnella learned while in that bor-' 
der-land. Her love as a wife and mother was 
unchanged, but when she felt sure that she was 
just entering that home in Heaven, she had no 
thought of the husband and children she loved, 
and had mourned for so much. No ! in the 
deep stillness of that hour, when her soul lost 
sight of earth, there was nothing in Heaven 
that attracted her thought but Jesus, her Saviour- 
God. So it must ever be with every human soul. 
He must be first in thought and affection, now 
and forever. A Friend almighty in all divine 
attributes, and in perfect human sympathies. In 
life, and in death, there is safety and peace 
only in Him. 

In Him Idnella was resting. Her entire being 
was too faint for any deep feeling, but she re- 
membered what a friend the Saviour had been 
to her throughout her life, and this one thought 
filled her mind, “I shall soon see Him, — shall 
soon see Him.” A glad joy wrapped her soul, 


236 


WHY ? 


and lulled her whole being into perfect peace. 
It was not • the design of the Heavenly Re- 
finer to permit Mrs. Grafton to go home then, 
and slowly she came back to earth and its tri- 
als. Her discipline was not all accomplished, 
and she must walk in the rough paths of the 
wilderness-life a little longer. There are other 
crucibles and more polishing awaiting her, and 
while she will learn new lessons of sorrow, she 
will learn many new and precious lessons of 
the wonders of God’s sustaining power and love. 

It was a long and weary upward climbing, to 
come back to the earthly life from the low 
border-land, and Idnella would never be strong 
again to toil at her needle for her children. 
They would have to meet life’s duties for them- 
selves, and for mother, too. How their willing 
hands ministered to her, and their loving voices 
cheered her days of tedious convalescence ! 

She was still very weak when Mrs. Sherman 
(Grafton), the only sister of Edward Grafton, 

came to visit them. Her marriage took place 

soon after her brother’s, and she had lived in 

New England ever since. Now she came to 

visit her mother and Idnella. She wished very 
much to take them all with her to her New 
England home, but this could not be, and she 
urged Idnella to allow her daughter Emma to 


IN THE BORDER LAND. 


237 


return with her, saying, “If you will intrust her 
to me I will give her all the advantages for 
an education that you wish her to have, and 
will be a mother to her in loving care.” 

Could Mrs. Grafton permit her one darling 
daughter to go far away, — giving her up to the 
care of another ? So she had gone from her 
own mother years before. Necessity compelled 
that sacrifice, and did not necessity call for this 
parting also ? She could do nothing more her- 
self to aid her child in securing the much-de- 
sired education. Mrs. Sherman could do it all, 
and should the fond mother shrink too much 
from the pain of this trial ? No ! for the best 
interest of her daughter, she would meet it. 

When the last kiss was given, and the part- 
ing was over, there rushed through the mother- 
heart such a yearning, clinging to her child 
that Idnella sprang up from her couch with the 
feeling, “I cannot bear this, — I cannot have 
her go away, — she must come back!” But a 
few moments of mental struggle, and a cry to 
God for help, made the weak, fainting heart, 
calm and strong to meet this thought again: — 
“It is better for my darling to go, — it is so 
much better for her. I must not grieve so, 
nor refuse to part with her.” 


238 


“ WHY1 


XXVIII. 


• pe^yyvWcl • ]"1 ©rr)e. 


“Say not ’twas all in vain, 

The watching, — and the waiting, — and the prayer. 

Have faith in God.” 

Tl^MMA GRAFTON’S home with her aunt 
was in New England, but a long distance 
from Weston, and would she be permitted to 
visit her mother’s early home ? Mrs. Sherman 
promised this. The wife of the pastor in Wes- 
ton was a special friend of Mrs. Sherman’s, and 
she would visit her, and Emma should visit her 
grandparents at the same time. It was in the 
pleasant summer time when this plan was car- 
ried out. 

Mrs. Sherman and Emma went alone from the 
village to the old homestead upon the hill. The 
landscape was the same as in the days of 
Idnella Heyward’s girlhood. The same glimpse 
of river, meadows, farm-homes, and wood-crowned 
hills, but the Heyward home was neglected and 
desolate, and no wonder, for its present owner 


THE HEYWARD HOME. 


2 39 


had been for many years a slave to intemper- 
ance. In spite of all restraining influences, 
George Heyward had gone on in the way to 
ruin. When his daughter had been a year in 
California, he surprised his wife by asking, 
roughly,— 

“ What is your girl up to, that she does n’t 
come home?” 

This was the opportunity his wife had anx- 
iously waited for, to tell him why, hoping much 
from the effect of this truth upon the father’s 
heart ; but the knowledge involved such bitter 
facts in regard to himself that it only aroused 
all that was evil in his nature. With a terrible 
oath he exclaimed, — 

TWell, you and your girl need n’t think you 
can conquer me in that way. I will do as I 

please in my own house. If she has gone off 

to California, she may stay there. She shall not 
come here again with her crying nonsense, and 
you will find that it is best for you, too, to 

keep your tears out of my sight.” 

In spite of himself, however, there was always, 
from this time, a feeling of self-reproach like a 
biting worm, ever within the heart of George 

Heyward. He strove to stifle its gnawing, by 
the constant and excessive use of brandy, but 
all his efforts were useless. He could not 


240 


“WHY? 


forget his wronged daughter, nor drown the 
stings of remorse. 

Can any one really believe that a soul leaving 
the earthly life, unchanged by the mercy and 
grace of God, will be able, in the other life, to 
lull the reproaches of conscience ? If this is 
found to be impossible upon earth, with so 
much to aid forgetfulness, how can one hope to 
do so in the future of lost souls ? 

To all about him, George Heyward at last 
seemed to be only a brutish, insensible man, — 
lost to every good; but deep within his heart 
was enshrined a fair young face, and a ringing 
laugh, and the song of a sweet, young voice, — his 
only daughter, as she was, before she knew 
that her father was a drunkard. 

Mr. Heyward would not allow himself to look 
at that memory-enshrined face, nor listen to the 
echo of that laugh and song. This aroused the 
undying worm of remorse to a more bitter 
stinging. By every means in his power he 
sought to drive from his memory all his family 
life. To do this more effectually he became 
rougher than ever towards his gentle wife, e.yen 
in those rare intervals when he was not so 
much under the influence of whisky. At all 
times his hard demands upon the strength of 
his wife were unceasing. With fearful oaths he 


THE HEYWARD HOME . 


24I 


would declare, “You sent that girl off to spite 
me. Now you shall not rest upon a bed of 
roses.” 

Mr. Heyward brought to his home a man 
with habits like himself, but younger, and not 
so often intoxicated. Frank Wilbur he made his 
business agent, having the farm in his care. 
His most important duty was to furnish brandy 
and whisky for George Heyward. 

Heyward then demanded of his wife a deed 
of the place. 

From the time that Emma Heyward sent 
Idnella away she had never opposed her hus- 
band, nor refused his requests, no matter , how 
unreasonable they were, but she could not yield 
tou this new demand. She sent for a lawyer 
and witnesses, and in their presence said to her 
husband, — 

“You require of me the whole control of my 
interest in this, my father’s homestead. I can- 
not, must not do this. I will give to you a 
certain part of it, — the remainder must still be 
in my name, according to my father’s will ; and 
for the benefit of my own daughter and Edith 
Ashton.” 

To this firm decision her husband was obliged 
to submit. He endeavored, in all possible ways, 
to be revenged upon the helpless wife. The 


242 “WBY?” 


interests of the farm were neglected, and its 
resources wasted. The men gathered about them- 
selves a company of boisterous, drinking men, 
and many were the revels and midnight carou- 
sals in the stately old homestead of Deacon 
Dudley. 

How did the refined Christian wife live in 
such scenes ? Only by clinging very closely to 
her God and her Bible. One place in the 
house was closed against all intrusion. Into her 
bethel-room no foot but her own was allowed 
to enter. There she wept and prayed when 
sinking under heavy trials. There she held on 
to the promises of God, — clinging to them with 
both hands, — while pleading for her husband, — 
pleading for her darling, suffering daughter, and 
for herself. There she was comforted and made 
strong to endure. 

Her letters to friends were full of this trust- 
ing faith, “I know that our God is altogether 
good, and never willingly afflicts or grieves His 
children, but that they may become partakers 
of His holiness. He it is who helps me to 
still pray in faith, believing that my husband 
will sometime become changed and saved.” 

It was, indeed, a long and terrible crucible, 
through these weary years, but Emma Heyward 
did not waver in her trust in the loving-kind- 


THE HEYWARD HOME. 


243 


ness of the Divine hand that was upholding her 
in this severe furnace of affliction. 

Does not God keep His dear children in 
some “fiery trial” often for the saving good of 
others as well as themselves ? 

The gentle patience with which Emma Hey- 
ward had walked alone within her ruined home, 
and amidst its wild revels, had not been with- 
out an influence upon her husband. Though he 
had fought against yielding one iota of his own 
will, yet he was being prepared to yield by the 
silent, hallowed steadfastness of the wife who 
had so trusted in God, through long years of 
testing trials. 

Mrs. Heyward knew that the child of her 
darling Idnella was coming to New England, 
and she expected to see her sometime, but did 
not know when she would arrive at Weston. 

A new burden had been laid upon Mrs. Hey- 
ward,. As the resources of the farm were now 
exhausted, Frank Wilbur had gone away, and 
George Heyward was compelled to obtain his 
whisky as best he could. In one of these efforts 
he sprained his ankle, and was confined to his 
chair, and also obliged to do without stimulants. 
This made him rave in impatient fury. His pa- 
tient wife ministered to his comfort, and tried 
to soothe him, until she could no longer endure 


244 


WHY? 


his raving, and then fled to her bethel-chamber. 
For many hours she knelt in tearful prayer. 

Amid all the desolations of her home Emma 
Heyward had remained a loyal wife, and to her 
deeply tried daughter she had given a true 
mother’s unfailing sympathy. 

She felt her strength exhausted, but she would 
still hold on to the promise, “ Whatsoever ye 
ask in My name, I will do it.” And still she 
prayed on, pleading with increasing earnestness, 
that God would come to her husband now, in 
some way to reach that hard, shut-up heart. 
“ O ! my Almighty Saviour, may it not be now 
that my husband shall be brought out of his 
terrible state ? Oh ! please bring him to thyself, 
now!” 

A wonderful peace of soul came as an 
answer to her prayer. She left it all with God. 
Her step was unusually light, in a new joy, as 
she left her room and descended the stairs. In 
the lower hall she found a lady and a young 
- girl, standing by the front door. Her eager eyes 
saw in the young face, her own child, as she 
was years ago. She sprang forward with a low 
cry,— 

“Oh! my child! my darling!” 

And Emma Grafton was closely folded in the 
arms of her grandmother Heyward. 


THE HEYWARD HOME. 


245 


Mrs. Sherman had some fears that this unex- 
pected meeting might prove too much for this 
pale-faced woman. She passed her arm about 
Mrs. Heyward and Emma, and leading them 
through an open door, seated them in a near 
chair. 

Mrs. Heyward still held Emma within her 
arms, — her darling Idnella’s own child. 

In the long years of bitter trials no one in 
her own home had given her a word of tender- 
ness or care, and her hungry heart had yearned 
for one loving word or look. This very image 
of her own loving daughter was resting upon 
her bosom, and the same sweet voice, so long 
unheard, was murmuring in her ear, — 

“Dear, dear grandma, mamma told me that I 
must kiss you very much for her.” 


( s 


246 


“ why? 


x XXIX. 


@ 71 r • jfWyep. 


Out of darkness, into light. 

J DNELLA GRAFTON had made her children 
so familiar with thoughts, of her own mother, 
that Emma felt that she knew and loved 
Grandma Heyward at once. Of the father little 
had been said, and the children only knew that 
Grandfather Heyward was sick or unfortunate. 
When they were parting Idnella said to her 
daughter, “If you see Grandfather Heyward, I 
want you should ask him if he remembers his 
little Idnella, and then you must give him a 
kiss for me.” 

As Emma was softly laying her mamma’s kisses 
upon the pale, tearful face of her grandmother, 
she was startled by hearing a rough voice say, 
“What’s all this, — what’s this sniveling about?” 
Springing up from her grandmother’s arms, Em- 
ma turned towards the speaker. She saw it 
was an old man, sitting in an arm-chair, not 
far from her. He was a very large man, with 


ANSWERED PRAYER. 


247 


a red, puffy face, and gray, shaggy hair. One 
foot was laid upon a chair, and wrapped in red 
flannel. All this Emma saw at a glance. She 
also saw strange-looking eyes gazing at her 
from beneath long, bushy eye-brows. 

“Can that strange old man be Grandfather 
Heyward?” she thought. 

She turned and whispered, “Is that grand- 
father ? ” 

Receiving a low “Yes, dear,” again she turned 
and looked at him. His eyes were still fixed 
upon her with a strange stare. 

Emma Grafton was not a timid child, and had 
little of her mother’s peculiar sensitiveness, but 
she felt a great shrinking from going near to 
that man. Yet if he was her dear mother’s 
father, she must go to him, and give the mes- 
sage her mother sent to him. With this feeling, 
Emma went to the side of her grandfather. 
Resting one hand upon the arm of his chair, 
and looking into his face, she said, — 

“My mamma told me to ask you if you re- 
membered your little Idnella?” 

From the moment that George Heyward saw 
that face, as Emma turned toward him from 
her grandmother, he had been immovable as 
though turned to stone. Powerful emotions were 
being aroused within his long-closed-up heart, 


248 


WHY? 


and surging through his long-dazed brain, for 
the young girl standing before him was the 
very same as the memory-image so long hidden 
in his neart ; hidden beneath the rubbish of 
many sinful years, yet still always there. In 
form and face, the dark, sparkling eye, the fair, 
round cheek, the smile lurking in every feature, 
— these were the very same as his only and once 
idolized daughter. 

George Heyward’s abused manhood was striv- 
ing to assert itself, but he was powerless to 
speak until Emma’s message from her mother 
fell upon his ear, “Do you remember your 
little Idnella ? ” 

Then the long-suppressed feeling burst forth, 
“ Good heavens ! When have I forgotten her ? 
Yes, I have tried to drown her memory in 
whisky. But I’ll not forget her again, — my lit- 
tle Idnella.” 

“ I will give you a kiss that my mamma, 
your little Idnella, sent to you.” 

And Emma Grafton laid her lips to the cheek 
of her grandfather. This seemed too much. The 
old man covered his face a moment with his 
hands, then threw his arms about the child and 
drew her to himself. 

Emma was now alarmed and sprang away 
to her Aunt Sherman, who was leading her from 


ANSWERED PRAYER. 


249 


the room, when her grandfather cried out in 
such pleading tones as had never been heard 
from his lips before, “ Don’t take the child 
away! Don’t let her leave me again!” 

From this hour Emma Grafton was made the 
instrument, in the hand of God, of leading her 
grandfather up out of his degradation. At first 
it was not at all pleasant to her to sit by his 
side as he wished her to do, but the memory 
of her dear mother’s words, “Be very kind to 
poor grandfather,” helped her to yield to his 
wishes. When he gradually began to ask her 
about her home in California, and of her dear 
mother and brother, she was soon talking to 
him in her own cheerful, animated voice. 

It was not long before Emma’s happy laugh 
and song were ringing through the old house* 
What melody this was, coming back down these 
years to these weary hearts, the long-exiled 
daughter’s laugh and song again in their home! 

To Mrs. Heyward was added the joy of 
answered prayer. She felt sure that God was 
giving to her now the fruition of her long wait- 
ing upon Him in humble faith. 

Her husband was checked in his mad career, 
and a change for the better was coming over 
him. The force of long-indulged habits, and the 
craving for stimulants, were terribly strong, but 


250 


WHY ?” . 


he knew that he could not yield at all to them 
and retain that pure child by his side. When 
his thirst for whisky was overpowering him, he 
would call out earnestly, — 

“Come, Emma, sing to me again! Sing one 
of the songs your mother used to sing! — my 
little Idnella.” 

Emma Grafton had been two months in the 
old home. Mrs. Sherman was still in the village, 
lingering until the grandparents should be will- 
ing to spare Emma ; but to both of them her 
presence in the home was like the sweetest 
days in June, when they are full of bird-song, 
the perfume of flowers, and the warm, glad 
sunshine. 

One day, as Emma finished the song her 
grandfather had asked her to sing, she said to 
him, “Now may I sing to you a hymn that 
my mamma sings?” 

“ Oh ! yes, you may sing to me anything you 
wish.” 

Then the sweet voice sang, close to his ear, 
all the words of her mother’s favorite hymn, — 

“What a friend we have in Jesus!” 

Mr. Heyward listened in silence to words that 
for many years he had allowed no one to speak 
in his presence. For some weeks, as the effects 
of stimulants were thrown from his brain, 


ANSWERED PRAYER. 


251 


thought and conscience had been busy. The 
hard, sceptical heart was troubled by the Holy 
Spirit, and was yielding to the influences that 
would lead him to eternal life. 

As he heard Emma sing this hymn, a view 
of his own wasted life came before him in a 
new light ; his terrible rebellion against all Di- 
vine things ; his cruel wrongs to the wife and 
daughter he had really loved, and all the mis- 
ery he had brought upon himself and family. 
For a time he sat with his head bowed upon 
his hands, then rising up, laid his hand upon 
Emma’s head, saying, — 

“ Thank you, dear child, for your hymn,” and 
left the room. 

For many years Mr. Heyward had not only 
been indifferent to his wife, but cruel in his 
treatment toward her. Now he went to find 
her, with a feeling of his need of her, and with 
a new appreciation of her rare worth. He was 
groping in the darkness, — a soul aroused to the 
truth of his danger, and was stretching out his 
hands to her for help. 

He found her in the summen-parlor, asleep 
upon the sofa. He sat quietly down and looked 
at her. In the long years of his mp.d dissipa- 
tion he never cared to note how that face was 
changing. Now he could see fhe lines of suf- 


252 


“ WHY? 


fering that his own hand had made in that 
pure, white face. How he had loved that face, 
once ! How cruel he had been ! How patiently 
she had borne it all ! What a wonderful peace 
rested upon that brow, where the blue veins 
made a delicate tracery over the marble-like 
temples! Yes, a halo of peace, and of purity, 
surrounded his wife. For himself there could 
be only regrets, self-reproach, and coming de- 
spair. A groan burst from his lips, which 
aroused his wife. She started up, exclaiming, — 

“Why, Mr. Heyward, what is the matter?” 

“Don’t be alarmed, Emma. There, lie down 
again and rest you.” 

And his trembling hand passed gently over 
her head. 

It was so many, many years since he had 
called her Emma, or given to her one token of 
love. This must be a dream of her young wife- 
hood ! But, no ! there her husband sat by her, 
looking at her in kindness, but there were tears 
upon his cheek. Then in broken words he told 
her of his distress for his wrongs to his family, 
for his sins against God, and asked her to pray 
for him. 

What a wondering joy! Would she pray? 
Ah ! with what abounding thanksgiving did Em- 
ma Heyward go to God, as for the first time 


ANSWERED PRAYER. 


253 


she knelt in prayer by the side of her husband. 
For a few moments she could only say, “ Oh ! 
my Father, I thank Thee ! My Almighty 
Saviour, I thank Thee for this ! ” 

Then there was an earnest, tender pleading 
that her husband might now be enfolded in the 
forgiving mercy and love of the one Saviour. 
The sin-stained soul of George Heyward soon 
found peace in the only way of salvation. The 
husband and wife were united in Christ, and 
made one, as they had never been before in all 
their wedded life. 

Together they returned to their granddaughter, 
who was writing to her mother. Mrs. Heyward 
bent over and whispered to her, “Write to your 
precious mother that a great joy has come to 
us, — grandfather has become a Christian. As 
soon as she is strong enough for the journey, 
we will have her come home.” 

The mother could not be content without 
writing herself to her darling, long-suffering child, 
and her letter was full to overflowing with lov- 
ing cheer, and the hope that now they would 
soon meet again. In her deep gratitude to God 
for His great blessing, there was in this letter 
a note of triumphant joy, not unlike that of 
the redeemed ones in Heaven : “ Unto Him who 
has been my own Saviour-God, sustaining me 


254 


“ WHY? 


through so many years of great trials, and now 
has given to me the blessings I asked of Him, 

I give all praise, and honor, and songs of re- 
joicing, now and ever more.” 

What joyful tidings to Idnella Grafton! How 
gladly would she hasten to join that now happy 
circle in her father’s home ; but she was still 
unable to endure the journey. 

In the spring they hoped all would come to 
New England, — Mother Grafton to find a home 
with her daughter, and Idnella and her children 
would be at home in her father’s house. They 
still waited for the re-union that had been the 
hope of many years. 

Letters passed between the repenting, restored . 
father and his daughter, that re-united the broken 
tendrils of love. 

George Heyward felt his entire inability to 
control the fearful habits of his whole manhood, 
and in deep humility was trusting alone in God 
to help him. 

Weeks went by in such happiness as only 
hearts at peace with God can know ; but one 
morning they found Mrs. Heyward with the thin 
hands folded upon the quiet breast, a smile up- 
on the sweet face, and the pure spirit fled to 
God. 

It startles one to think of dying so, but death 


ANSWERED PRAYER. 


255 


is only the shadow of the vestibide that opens 
the way into the future life. The trusting 
child of God need not fear to have that shadow 
fall upon the earthly path at any time. 

A great sorrow had come to those left behind, 
and what a mystery that the wife was taken 
when her husband needed her so much in his 
new life ! There are no mistakes, we are sure, in 
the providences of God, though they often ap- 
pear so to human knowledge. 

Mr. Heyward was compelled to go to God 
alone for help, and to a close study of His 
Word. 

Upon the table in her bethel-room lay the 
worn Bible that had been the constant compan- 
ion of his wife for so many suffering years. 
Upon many of its pages were pencil-marks 
against some precious promise, or some especial 
word of comfort, showing how Emma Heyward 
had learned to “live by faith.” 

Together George Heyward and his grand- 
daughter read the same words, and the sad old 
man and the young girl followed the upward 
leading, as they traced the teachings of the 
Lord Jesus. 

The soul of George Heyward will be saved 
through trusting in the only Saviour, but it will 
be as a dim jewel in the crown of Christ’s 


256 


WHY ? 


rejoicing. Who would choose to spend this life 
in sin, and at the very last be saved through 
God’s mercy, but only as a dim star among 
the host of Heaven ? Better some sharp polish- 
ing, and a life spent for God, that will bring 
the soul nearer to Him in the better life. 

Emma Grafton could not leave her grandfather 
alone, and Mrs. Sherman arranged that she 
should remain while he needed her, but it was 
only for a few months, and then he lay upon 
his dying bed. He was conscious and peaceful. 

“ I have been a great sinner,” he said, “ but 
I am trusting an Almighty Saviour. I shall be 
among those who are saved by the blood of the 
Lamb, — Christ J esus. 

“Now, my dear little comforter, sing to me 
once more, your mother’s hymn, — 

“ 4 What a friend we have in Jesus!’ 

“Dear child, thank you. Now take this kiss to 
your precious mother, my little Idnella. We will 
all meet again.” 

And soon another grave was made out in the 
quiet cedar-grove. 


AGAIN IN THE BOEDER LAND. 


25 7 


XXX. 


cTlgair) • i r) • 1 l^jc • j3ordcr • 


“Suffer I grief or loss, 

It is Thy will I 
He who can ne’er forsake> 

Holds my hand still.” 

njfTIME hurried the years away, and still Mrs. 

Grafton remained in the Quince home, with 
her husband’s mother. 

These years were quiet, uneventful ones, and 
Idnella regained much of her lost strength. She 
was hopefully waiting the unfolding of the fu- 
ture, in a new home with her son, when a 
suddeji illness laid her, weak and helpless, upon 
her bed. Then came a midnight alarm of fire, 
and before help could come the flames were 
bursting into her room and roaring over her 
head. Strong arms bore her hastily to the house 
of a neighbor, but from the couch where they 
laid her she could see the fire destroying the 
old homestead, so full of memories of husband 
and children. The dear home with mother Graf- 


258 


“ WIIY ? 


ton, that had been such a refuge in her wid- 
owed sorrow ! All was consumed : every memento 
of her own precious family. 

A terrible shock was given to her nervous 
system, and she lay in unconscious prostration. 
She was brought close down to the river of 
death. 

Mother Grafton wept over the dear face that 
was again white and still upon the pillow. 
Their mutual sorrows had bound Edward Graf- 
ton’s mother and widowed wife very closely to 
each other. The mother clung to this daughter, 
but was too broken in health to remain in 
Quince. A friend was waiting to accompany 
her to New England, and she was obliged to 
leave. She knelt close by the pillow of Idnella 
and prayed as only suffering love can pray. 
Earnestly she pleaded that the Divine Saviour, 
our “Elder Brother,” would uphold, and comfort, 
and restore this precious one, if it could be His 
will. 

The tender petition and loving sympathy 
penetrated into the deadened brain and heart of 
Idnella, giving her a little stir of life and com- 
fort ; then slowly, very slowly, she was brought 
back to conscious life again. 

Mother Grafton was gone, and all Idnella’s 
surroundings were new. Even the woman who 


AGAIN IN THE BORDER LAND. 


259 


gave her some care, and the physician, were 
both strangers to her. Where was she ? Why 
did no friend come to her bedside ? Not even 
her kind pastor and her good old doctor. It was 
a mystery to her, and troubled her weak mind. 

Ah, indeed, it was a mystery why Idnella 
must be hurried from her burning home into 
the mansion of Esquire Belden. To him it was 
a most unwelcome fact. He had never forgiven, 
he never would forgive, Idnella Grafton for re- 
fusing his offer of marriage. This had so 
rankled in his mind, that no feeling of pity was 
left in his heart toward her. There was nothing 
in the teat hings of his pet philosophy, excluding 
as it did a belief in the Bible and in God, 
that could help him to the noblest and best 
feelings of manhood. Certainly there was nothing 
in his present mode of life to awaken sympathy 
in the sufferings of others. His family consisted 
of himself and a woman whom he had influ- 
enced /to discard the Bible and its teachings. 
When he learned from this woman that Mrs. 
Grafton had been brought into his house, he 
demanded of her friends that she should be in- 
stantly removed. 

The physician who had her in charge refused 
to allow this to be done. “She is in a dying 
condition now, — she shall not be removed.” 


26 o 


WHY? 


But Esquire Belden still raved. At last the 
friends appealed to his pride, and to his grasp- 
ing love of money, promising to pay him for 
all the trouble. 

He finally said, “She may stay, but I will 
not have people coming here. My woman may 
take care of her, but you must keep all others 
away. I will not have folks with their pious 
cant about my house. I won’t have your doctor, 
either. None but my own shall come here.” 

To this the friends of Mrs. Grafton were 
compelled to submit, and she was left in the 
care of the housekeeper and the new doctor. 

At first Idnella was indifferent to everything, 
but as she began to realize her surroundings, 
was it strange that she grieved over her entire 
isolation from friends ? 

“Why had they all forsaken her?” she ques- 
tioned in her mind, but did not ask the strange 
nurse, and never complained of any neglect. 

No one could willingly be unkind, as they 
looked at her white face lying so helpless upon 
the pillow, but Mrs. Walter was wholly in the 
power of Esquire Belden, and his order was, 
“ Do nothing that the doctor does not oblige 
you to do. Her bothering friends are not com- 
ing here to know. Let her stay alone day and 
night, — it’s no matter.” 


AGAIN IN THE BORDER LAND . 


26l 


Friends had not forgotten, nor her Saviour’s 
promise failed, — “I will never leave thee, nor 
forsake.” 

Earthly friends remembered her in loving 
sympathy, and afterwards she realized how con- 
stantly the Omnipresent Friend was near to 
help and comfort her. 

Even while she yearned to see friends, and 
vainly tried to recall the precious promises, and 
tears were stealing down her cheeks, there came 
the whispered thought, “Jesus knows!” and she 
was soothed to quiet rest. 

If critics deride this as a fallacy, in like 
manner may the blind deride our glowing de- 
scriptions of sunshine and the loveliness of a 
summer-landscape. To the open vision, one is 
as real as the other. 

A hundred miles from Quince, Mrs. Grafton’s 
son was engaged in business, and preparing a 
new home for his mother. He was informed of 
the fire, but not of his mother’s illness. Receiv- 
ing no reply to his letters after some weeks, he 
hastened to Quince. 

How like the glad sunshine was his coming 
to his mother’s lonely sick-room ! Her noble, 
manly son, with his pleasant voice and smile. 

“ Oh, mother ! Dear mother ! Why did they 
not tell me how it was with you ? I would 


262 


WHY ? 


have come at once. I ought to have come be- 
fore.” 

No one could keep the son away from his 
mother’s bedside. Esquire Belden refused, and 
Mrs. Walter frowned, in vain. Everett firmly 
maintained his right to remain by his mother 
during the day, and at night near her in the 
adjoining room, giving her cordials and soothing 
her wakefulness as she needed. 

There were no more lonely, grieving hours 
for Idnella. Her loving son was her watchful 
nurse. He would not allow anything to worry 
or tire his mother. He talked or read a little 
while, and then would say, “Now, dear mother, 
you must rest,” and his hand went gently over 
the tired head, or soothingly over the nervous 
hands, until quiet sleep came. 

The physician said, “Sir, you are doing your 
mother more good than I am.” 

During these weeks, Esquire Belden was an 
irritated, unhappy man. He knew that people 
called him ungentlemanly in his treatment of 
Mrs. Grafton, but he would yield in nothing. 
He had hoped that Idnella would die. His 
talkative housekeeper kept him well informed in 
regard to the sick-room. When he heard how 
quietly patient she was in her strange isolation, 
and of the smile with which she received un- 


AGAIN IN THE BORDER LAND . 


263 


wonted attentions, he could 'not help some mem- 
ories being stirred, of her joyous laugh and song 
in her uncle’s home. 

“ He would not care,” yet he found he could 
not help caring, and thinking, as the weeks 
went on. . This increased his irritation. The 
thought would come, — 

“What if there should be some truth in this 
idea of a Supreme Power ? What if, after all 
the vaunted wisdom of this trusted philosophy, 
it should prove to be deep, dark, mental blind- 
ness, and all its followers be led into eternal 
night ? ” 

For many years Esquire Belden had filled his 
mind with the thoughts of leading sceptics, and 
of the Bible and the laws of God had been 
willingly ignorant. Yet there was within himself, 
as in all humanity, a law that God implanted, 
that was calling him to an account. He had 
every means to gratify earthly desires ; then 
why was he so unhappy, so unsatisfied, while 
Idnella Grafton, sick, homeless, and with little 
means, was quiet and peaceful ? He could but 
remember that she was a sensitive and timid 
girl, and in the years since, she had again and 
again been crushed by heavy sorrow, but had 
risen above it, calm and strong. What had sus- 
tained her ? 


264 


“ WHY? 


She had said to his housekeeper in those days 
before her son came, “ I have a friend in my 
Saviour, who never leaves me.” 

Could any one live through years of constant 
sorrow, and become strong by a delusion? This 
did not accord with his mental philosophy. Mor- 
bid fancies and unhealthy brain -illusions were 
short-lived, or ended in a fog of mental ruin ! 

Mrs. Grafton had been more deeply afflicted 
than any person that he knew, and was too 
weak to grasp a thought, or hold on to any 
belief, yet evidently was resting upon something 
not seen by mortal vision. 

As these thoughts came to Esquire Belden, 
and he remembered how 4 calmly Idnella had 
walked in her sorrowful path, toiling for her 
children, trusting only in God, and in new trials 
and great weakness trusted Him still, he was 
compelled to admit that there were some mys- 
teries that neither science nor philosophy could 
solve. 

There were Heavenly influences about him 
then! Would he yield and live forever? Or go 
his own way, and meet the second death? 

“ There is an unseen battle-field 
In every human breast, 

Where two opposing forces meet ; 

The end — is Life or Death J” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


265 


XXXI. 


ff) of Ijci 5 • cnjd • 



‘‘Home, sweet, sweet home.” 


RS. GRAFTON came back very slowly to 
health. At times she seemed to be sink- 
ing. Then she would say, — 

“ Oh ! let me go to my Saviour ] I want to 
rest in His presence forever! My darling son, 
don’t try to keep me here any longer!” 

“ My deaf mother, I must try to keep you ! 
I cannot spare you ! I need your prayers and 
your love ! Don’t you remember that you are to 
keep house for me in Benton ? Do try to live, 
for my sake, and I will take such care of you 
that you shall not become tired or sad again ! ” 
The pleading love of her only son was a 
strong incentive to bring the weak spirit back 
to life. It was God’s will that she should live, 
and His hand lifted her up again. 

After a few months, mother and son were set- 
tled in their new home in Benton. 


266 


“ WHY? 


It was a pleasant cottage-home upon the out- 
skirts of the city. There was a charming view 
of the broad river near by, and in the far dis- 
tance could be seen the snowy peaks of the 
Sierra Nevada. Within and without, flowers, and 
climbing plants, and vines, beautified the home. 

Through all her life Mrs. Grafton had retained 
her peculiar love for home. Since the terrible 
breaking up at Quince, this love seemed inten- 
sified. 

Her affections had been loosened from one 
fond clinging after another, until it seemed that 
she would never dare to rest in anything of 
earth again ; but she certainly did rest in this 
home with her son. Everett Grafton had always 
been a gentle, loving child, and was a tender 
and considerate son in his manhood. In this 
shielding love Idnella rested as she had never 
done before since her husband’s death, and she 
did everything in her power to make home 
bright for Everett. It was her highest earthly 
pleasure to prepare every comfort to welcome his 
return from business. 

Everett Grafton was an active member of the 
church in Benton, and was found only in the 
paths of truth and right. He was in the strength 
of young manhood, and when his mother became 
strong enough to attend church, with what a 


MOTHER AND SON 


267 


fond pride did she go, leaning upon the arm of 
her son ! 

“No mother has a better son than mine,” was 
her constant, loving thought. When Everett’s 
musical voice united with her own in the sing- 
ing and family prayer, the fond mother-heart was 
content. Earth could give no greater joy, no 
better love ; and while they lived, this home and 
this shielding love would be hers. 

If we were writing a fiction, we would now 
close our story, and leave Idnella sheltered in 
the loving care of her son ; but we are giving 
glimpses in real life, of real sufferings, in a real 
crucible ! 


268 


“ WHY? 


XXXII. 

<^ • F)e,y3 • © micikle. 

“Lord, chisel, chasten, polish us, 

Each blemish take away ! ” 

“Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed!” 

— A. A. Proctor. 

f ROM boyhood up to manhood, Everett Graf- 
ton had trusted his mother ; giving to her 
that confidence which is youth’s best safeguard, 
and often man’s best comfort. 

When Everett chose his wife, he sought his 
mother’s consent and blessing, and the mother 
gave both, with an earnest prayer that this new 
event might prove indeed a blessing to her son 
and to herself. Her own daughter now belonged 
to another. In the wife of her son she hoped 
to gain a loving daughter. She knew little of 
the lady of his choice, but in her heart she had 
given her a welcome and beginning of a mother’s 
love. She loved her son too well not to love 
his wife also, and with pleasant anti:ipations, 
the home was made ready to receive the new 
daughter. 


A NEW CRUCIBLE. 


269 


It is well that the future is unfolded one 
page at a time to human hearts ! 

As the mother received her son and his bride, 
she detected at once some trouble in the frank 
eye of her boy, and a quiver of his lip as he 
gave his kiss of greeting. 

She could not question him as in the past, 
for one stood closer to his heart than mother; but 
she knew that her own place was the same that 
it had ever been, and if he was in trouble he 
would be sure to come with it to her sometime. 

Everett Grafton was in an unexpected, bitter, 
strange trouble ! 

Everett was like his mother, loving, sensitive, 
and gentle in all his intercourse with others, 
and possessed the aspirations of a true manhood. 
His love for his mother was true and tender, 
and he felt the force of these Bible words, — 
‘‘The only son of his mother, and she a widow.” 
To care for mother, was to Everett a part of 
his being, and interwoven with all his plans in 
life. When he won Minnie Andrews for his wife, 
he felt sure that he had secured a kind daugh- 
ter for his mother. 

How great was his astonishment and trouble 
when his chosen wife began to say to him, — 

“I don’t mean to have any mother about me; 
your mother must go away from our home I ” 


27 o 


why? 


It was impossible for Everett Grafton to be- 
lieve that his wife could be in earnest, or if 
she had this feeling, that it could be retained. 
He only replied, — 

“You will change your mind about that when 
you are in our home, and learn to know my 
mother.” 

With this hope he took his wife to Benton. 
How joyfully he had anticipated presenting this 
new daughter to his mother ! How happy they 
would be all together ! 

Already a fear or doubt about this had come 
to Everett, which caused his lips to tremble, as 
he met his mother’s welcome. 

This mother whom he loved so much ! Who 
had suffered in so many ways, and he had in- 
tended to shield her from any more trouble ! 
Was his marriage to bring new suffering to her 
loving heart ? It could not be ! He would not 
believe it ! 


THE NEW CRUCIBLE. 


27 1 


XXXIII. 

^l)e-F)cuS-S fuciLI e. 


“Thou Great Refiner! Sit Thou by! 

’T is sweet to think how well He knows 

The silver’s power to bear 

The ordeal through which it goes, 

And that with skill and care, 

He ’ll take it from the fire, when fit, 

With His own hand to polish it!” 

TMOTWITH STANDING the modern idea that 
woman has the “right” of leadership equal 
to man, there still remains the Bible-teaching, 
that “the husband is the head of the wife.” It 
was ordained that the wife should stand beside 
her husband, his equal in all that is best in life, 
and his superior in that which makes of a true 
woman a queen in her home ; but man was or- 
dained of God to be the rightful head and guide. 
When this is understood, and married life rests 
upon God’s teachings, there is no clashing of 
interest, or disunion in family life. 

Everett Grafton found, to his disappointment 
and sorrow, that his young wife did not accept 


272 


“ why? 


the Bible as her teacher and guide. He thought 
that she was so good and true, and that she 
loved him ; but she would not yield to her hus- 
band’s wishes about his mother. She was deter- 
mined to have her own will ! Everett pleaded 
with her. 

“ My mother’s rightful home is with me, her 
only son. I never could have dreamed that you 
would wish or compel her to go away. I thought 
you liked my mother.” 

“I like her well enough, as well as I would 
like any mother in my home. But I don’t want 
any, and I am determined not to have any. I 
have no fault to find with your mother, but I 
don’t want her here.” 

“Do you love me, Minnie?” 

“ Well, I should think my being willing to 
marry you, might answer that question.” 

“But it seems you do not love me enough to 
allow me to keep my mother in her home.” 

“ Well, I will have my own way about that ! 
I will have it so ! Your mother must go away, 
somewhere. You must tell her to go away, or 
/ will go away ! You will have to choose be- 
tween us ! ” 

Was there ever a young husband in such a 
crucible before ! 

Why, O why, must it be so ? 


THE NEW CRUCIBLE. 


273 


This question always comes with new and start- 
ling force, as some “ fiery furnace ” withers 
fondly laid plans of earthly joy ! 

One evening down by the river in the Catalpa 
grove, with only the stars for company, Everett 
Grafton questioned with himself and battled with 
his sorrow. 

“ Why has this come to me ? I love my wife ; 
I love my mother. I must have both with me. 
I have tried to please God. Now, where I ex- 
pected so much happiness, a great trial has 

come ! I thought Minnie was good, kind, and 

loved me. Now she utterly refuses to permit my 
mother to remain in the home with us ! My 

precious mother, my much-suffering, widowed 
mother ! I am impatient of my manhood, that 
I have so failed to protect her. Can I ever tell 
her what my wife demands ? Oh, no ! She must 
never know. But how can I shield her from 

this knowledge ? Oh ! God is dealing very hardly 
with me ! ” 

Ah ! dear heart, do not give up your faith in 
the loving-kindness of God. He surely never 
grieves nor gives pain to any one without suf- 
ficient cause. If He disappoints in earthly joys, 
it is only to lead the aching heart more surely 
to Himself, the only Fountain of all joy. 

Everett Grafton would be made to see, through 


274 


WHY?” 


this crucible of sorrow, that there was no true 
union in marriage with one who was not a 
Christian. A child of God, with one who is 
not ! God does not bless such marriages. He 
was not blessing Everett. This was his mistake ; 
and in this was the element of his hard trial. 

Everett did not tell his mother, but she learned 
of the sacrifice her new-made daughter demanded. 
The knowledge came to her as a new shock. 

She “must go away somewhere,” and give up 
her home with her darling son. 

How the words burned into her heart, and 
hissed in her brain, through the long hours of 
that night ! Like a terrified child fleeing to its 
home from danger, Idnella Grafton fled to God 
in prayer. The Divine Comforter came with His 
never-failing help. In the morning she was calm, 
serene, and gentle in manner. 

With this feeling strong in her heart, — “This 
must come right ; I will try to be to Minnie the 
same as though she was the kind daughter I 
expected to have in the wife of my son,” — Mrs. 
Grafton went about the usual household cares, 
ministering as a mother to the comfort of Ev- 
erett and his wife. 

Constantly asking God to help her to do just 
right in her new duties, and bear her new sor- 
row in silent patience, she made no complaint. 

\ 


THE NEW CRUCIBLE. 


27 5 


She did not speak of this trouble to her son or 
his wife. She said nothing about it to any .one 
but God. It was such a strange, humiliating sor- 
row, that her son’s wife refused to live with her! 
What did it mean, that she should have this 
laid upon her, after all of her devoted mother- 
life ! She could talk about it only to her 
Saviour-God ! 

No effort of the will, nor submissiveness of 
spirit to God, can compel the healthy action of 
the human body in such heart-suffering as this. 
Idnella was soon upon a sick-bed, with a low 
fever. The weary brain grew hot and confused, 
under the torturing weight of this strange sor- 
row ! 

Idnella had made some true friends in Benton; 
and as these friends watched by her pillow, they 
caught the half-articulated moanings of the griev- 
ing heart. “ Oh ! Everett, my precious son, I 
cannot go from you! You will not allow your 
mother to be turned out of this home, — your 
home and mine! Why, this is my home, I have 
no other! I cannot be separated from you, my 
son, my only, my darling son ! Why is Minnie 
doing this ? I would have loved her, if she had 
allowed me to ; but what shall I do now ? Where 
shall I go? My Father, O my Father in heaven! 
My Saviour ! Where is He ? All gone ! all gone ! ” 


276 


“ WHY? 


Would this oft-suffering brain be wholly over- 
powered now ? Oh, no ! for again the Great Phy- 
sician gives His healing mandate. He cooled the 
fevered brain, and soothed the sad heart, until 
Idnella was her conscious self again. Her son 
was by her, with his own loving way, and she 
thought that this trouble was only a sad dream 
of the night. 

After a time, Mrs. Grafton was again about 
the house, though pale and weak. She was rest- 
ing in the loving care of her son, but it was 
not permitted long, for Minnie had not relin- 
quished the design she deliberately formed, to 
compel her husband’s mother to leave the house. 

The marriage that was anticipated by Everett 
and his mother as an event of joy, had only 
brought sorrow to them both. But solemn obli- 
gations devolved upon him as a husband. These 
he could not lightly throw off. He was contin- 
ually saying to his mother, “You must not go 
away, you must remain in spite of everything.” 

Mrs. Grafton could not live in contention, and 
she believed that no one should ever come be- 
tween husband and wife ; not even a mother, 
though a mother should always retain her own 
place in the heart of her son. Idnella was com- 
pelled to see that increasing trouble was made 
for Everett, while she remained, and she deter- 


THE NEW CRUCIBLE. 


277 


mined to leave, in the hope that the home 
would be made happier for him. 

From the time that she learned of this new 
trial, she had gone to God in pleading prayer 
for direction. She was without one earthly friend 
to advise her. She shrank from telling any one 
of this strange trial. She could only go to God. 
He directed and gave her strength. 

“ What shall I do? Where shall I go?” had 
been the burden of her prayer. She thought of 
Weston and her childhood’s home. No father or 
mother could welcome her now ; no dear one of 
the old home. It would not be home. No spot 
upon earth would ever be home to her again ; 
but the old place would be a refuge, and she 
decided to return. 

Mrs. Grafton had not complained, nor blamed 
any one ; but the constant struggle with this 
grief in her mother-heart was written upon her 
white face. She was very quiet, too, still, as in 
the time after her husband’s death. Her suffer- 
ings were very keen. She was giving up the 
last one of her own precious family, and her last 
earthly dependence ! 

She tried to close her heart against the full 
meaning of this “leaving her one darling son, 
and giving up her one only home ! ” She dared 
not stop to think what it all involved, lest her 


why? 


278 


grief should again overpower her mind. She 
dared not stop to look at the shrubs and flow- 
ers her own hand had cultivated, nor give a 
parting glance at the pleasant rooms she had 
beautified for her son and his wife, but rapidly 
and silently she made her preparations to depart. 

One evening she and her son stood alone at 
the depot, waiting for the night-express. 

Everett was very pale. Indeed there was such 
a look of intense suffering upon his face, that 
his mother was lifted above her own bitter grief, 
that she might comfort her darling and help him 
through this parting. 

“Oh! my precious son! You and I must now 
live very near to our Saviour ; He only can help 
us ; He will help us ; He will keep us in all of 
our earthly life, and in His Heavenly mansions 
we will meet again ! No separation, no sorrow, 
no sin will be there ! O, cling very closely to 
our Saviour, my darling, precious son ! ” 

Her self-control was failing, tears were falling 
fast, she could say no more. There was one 
more moment of clinging to her son, and then 
Mrs. Grafton was alone in the sleeping-car. 
Alone, though surrounded by strangers ! 

With her face pressed against the window, she 
yielded to the bitter weeping that would no 
longer be controlled. 


THE NEW CRUCIBLE . 


279 


Tears are the safety-valve for heart and brain, 
and many hours passed while this wronged, for- 
saken, desolate mother wept. The wind swept 
by, dashing the rain against the window, as the 
cars rushed on in the thick darkness. Idnella 
felt that she was whirling through the darkness 
of a new and terrible experience in life. Every 
foundation seemed swept away from beneath her 
feet. Husband, children, home, friends, all were 
taken from her ! 

When tears had had their way, and the low 
sobbing ceased, Idnella could listen to the whis- 
perings of the Divine Comforter, as He reminded 
her Of the truths she knew so well. 

“ God, your Heavenly Father and Saviour, is left 
to you ! He will never leave nor forsake you ! ” 
Again her bruised heart was quieted. 

“In this bitter anguish lying, 

Only Thou wilt hear my crying.” 

So wilU“I comfort you,” as when a sobbing 
child seeks sweet heart-comfort on its mother’s 
breast. 


28 o 


“ WHY? ” 


\ 


XXXIV. 

l^okcpf • Rer)f0r). 

“When winds are raging o’er the upper ocean, 

And billows wild contend with angry roar, 

’Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, 

That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. 

“So, to the heart that knows Thy love, O Christ, 

There is a temple, sacred evermore; 

And all the babble of life’s angry voices, 

Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful door. 

“Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth, 

And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully, 

And no rude storm, how fierce so e’er it flieth, 

Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in Thee.” 

— H. B. Stowe. 

A RRANGEMENTS had been made for Mrs. 

Grafton to stop a few days in San Fran- 
cisco, with Mrs. Mason. This lady had pre- 
viously lived in Benton. She had seen how 

happy Mrs. Grafton was in the home with her 
son, and had known of the sorrow that had so 
strangely come to them. She met Idnella at 

the station, and welcomed her to her own home 

with pitying kindness. 


ROBERT FENTON. 


28l 


People who have never suffered, often feel it 
a wearisome task to meet others in great sor- 
row. Ah ! if they could only know that a gen- 
tle, unvarying kindness, even though silent, is 
always a solace to a suffering heart! 

Mrs. Mason was somewhat perplexed. The sad, 
white-faced mother ! What^ could she say to her, 
or do for her, in these few days before she 
would go on to New England ? 

The best thing that Mrs. Mason could think 
of was to take Mrs. Grafton to one of Mr. 

Fenton’s evening services. “He is a wonderful 
man. He always has the right word for each 

of his hearers. I know he will say something 
to comfort you. Mrs. Grafton, you must hear 

Mr. Fenton.” 

Mr. Fenton! 

That name meant nothing to Idnella, for 
she had never heard of her mother’s early 

friend. 

This was indeed Robert Fenton. When we 
last knew him he was in a maze of bewildering 
disappointment, grief, and doubt. To his dazed 
mind the affairs of this life seemed to be with- 
out the minute inspection of the Just and Wise 
Controller. He believed in Him as the kind 
and Infinite One, but He seemed far off. Soon 
after Robert’s last interview with Emma Dudley, 


2 82 


“ WHY? 


he went to Europe with Doctor and Mrs. Har- 
land. They were gone two years. 

Doctor Harland and Robert Fenton chose to 
spend their time in leisurely rambles through 
the rural scenes of England ; then a long, long 
time in wildly-romantic Scotland ; and many 
months they were hidden among the valleys and 
mountains of Switzerland. Such scenes in nature 
have a wonderfully soothing and recuperative 
power on over-taxed brains, and nerves, and 
bruised hearts. 

Doctor Harland became almost young again, 
in the elasticity of his spirits and mental 
strength. To Robert Fenton there came an up- 
lifting and expanding of physical and mental 
power, such as he had never before experienced. 
There came, also, an uplifting and expanding of 
his soul-life beyond anything that he had ever 
known. Gradually his heart was comforted and 
made quiet, as his soul was led out of the dark- 
ness of doubt into the light of a true trust in 
God. He found perfect rest of soul in a perfect- 
Saviour. Amid the clamor of this earthly life, 
some even of God’s children fail to find this 
entire rest, but it is for all who will receive 
it, and there must be the beginning in this life, 
for “the opeitings of the streets of the New 
Jerusalem begin upon earth.” 


ROBERT FENTON. 


283 


Robert Fenton was to enter upon a special 
work for his fellow-men, and God was giv- 
ing to him a special preparation. First, a great 
sorrow that sundered his strong earthly love; 
then special consolations that lifted his whole 
being into the near and abiding presence of 
God. 

This presence healed the bruised heart, and 
gave rest to the soul. This permitted Robert 
to enjoy more keenly all that was finest in na- 
ture. The grandeur of the mountains, the splen- 
dor of the sunsets, the lovely-tinted flowers, 
were to him constant reminders of the' power 
and kindness of their Creator. In such a Being 
he could trust, and to His service he would 
willingly devote his whole life. It was amid 
those Alpine solitudes that Robert Fenton con- 
secrated himself entirely to God, and found this 
soul-rest in Christ. 

One afternoon when Doctor Harland and Rob- 
ert were alone in a lovely valley of the lower 
Alps, while above and beyond arose the snowy 
peaks of the higher Alps, the sun in the midst 
of gorgeous clouds was sinking towards the 
crest of the mountain, tinging the landscape 
with gold and crimson rays, Robert Fenton’s 
voice was heard in hushed tones repeating those 
grand words of the Psalmist: — 


284 


“ WHY ? 


“As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, 
so the Lord is round about His people.” 

And then, — 

“O men whose spirits are wounded, 

And crushed ’neath earthly cares; 

O women, whose hearts are bleeding, 

Whose griefs no mortal shares, — 

Go to the mount of communion.” 

Robert was nerving himself, and preparing 
Doctor Harland, for an unwelcome communication. 
Presently he spoke again, — 

“These grand old mountains, how they help 
us to realize something of the power and majesty 
of God! How they help to lift us up nearer to 
the unseen glory! What are we but motes in 
the vast, unlimited universe of God ? And yet 
He stoops to listen to our petitions, and cares 
for us in all of our needs. The belief that He 
does know and care has become a source of 
continual strength and rest to me. He is well 
acquainted with all that you have been to me, 
and your plans and hopes in regard to my re- 
maining with you as your medical assistant. He 
knows how happy I would be to comply with 
your wishes, and yet He marks out another path 
for me, and one that must lead me away from 
you and away from New England.” 

While Robert was talking, Doctor Harland had 


ROBERT FENTON. 


285 


been intently listening. At these last words he 
started from his seat, grasped Robert’s hand, 
and exclaimed, — 

“Why, my boy, what can you mean? You 
are to be my assistant physician, — yes, my sure 
helper. I am depending upon it in all my fu- 
ture duties as a physician. You cannot, you 
must not, desert me.” 

“ Oh, no, my truest earthly friend, I shall 
not desert you ; I will be your loyal son always. 
But listen while I explain to you my position. 
I cannot fail to understand that God is calling 
me to a different work. That call came first in 
my last year at Yale. I would not give heed 
to it. I was too anxious to remain with you. 
I was too much absorbed in my dreams of 
earthly happiness, to be willing to listen to the 
whispered call of my Heavenly Friend. 

“Within a few months, and since we came into 
Switzerland, this call has come again, loud and 
distinct. I must listen and obey. My work is 
to be especially among young men, and my first 
field of labor is to be in Chicago.” 

“But, Robert, you surely must know that you 
can do this work as well, if not better, as a 
physician.” 

“ It. is indeed very true that a physician has 
many opportunities ; but as a doctor with a gen- 


286 


WHY ? 


eral practice, I could avail myself of such op- 
portunities for this special work as might come 
to me only at intervals. Now I shall devote 
all my time and strength to the work of elevat- 
ing a higher standard of physical, moral, and 
spiritual life among the young men of our coun- 
try. I am alarmed and aroused, as I see so 
many of them drifting, drifting continually away 
from all that is noble and best in manhood. 
Ah, and some who profess better things, do not 
live any better. They, too, are drifting with the 
thoughtless crowd, away from God and hope. 
Oh, why do men so willingly grovel in the 
mire of sin ? I am ashamed of humanity when 
I hear some men talk ; but, oh, they do not 
see. It shall be my life-work to help them to 
see and understand God’s truth. I am but one, 
yet I go, leaning for strength and wisdom upon 
Him who has all power. This work is His own, 
and He will give success to it. 

«Now, my dear, ever-kind friend, will you not 
give me your hand as a pledge of your sympa- 
thy and aid, as I go to this work?” 

It was difficult for the good old doctor to do 
this at once. How could he, in a moment, re- 
linquish the cherished hope of years? He would 
have remonstrated and reasoned the case over 
again, but when he looked closely into Robert’s 


ROBERT FENTON. 


2 87 


face and saw there the inspiration of a noble 
resolve and a holy consecration, he felt sure 
that it must be yielded to, as from the Lord. 
Soon he said, — 

“ Robert, you do not intend to shut yourself 
away from a family life, do you ? You must 
not allow your own life to be a desolate one, 
because Emma Dudley was false. You love 
home so much, you will marry sometime ? ” 

“ I cannot say. I do not know. I have no 
intention about it, either way, now. Marriage is 
of God’s appointment, and is too sacred to be 
treated in the ignoble manner in which many 
receive it. But while it is ordained of God, 
yet I believe that if circumstances require it, 
men can live without home or family. God 
gives the grace sufficient for all times and 
needs. Whether with or without a family of his 
own, it certainly is man’s imperative obligation 
to keep his life pure in God’s sight. This is 
the life I shall strive to obtain, even the life 
hidden in Christ Jesus, my unfailing Friend. 
With this I know that my earthly life will be 
full of the best joys. 

“Dear friend, do not have any fears for my 
future, nor any regrets for yourself. To both 
of us, in our now deviating paths, will always 
remain the Divine upholding Presence. If this is 


283 


WHY? 


not so, what is the meaning of His often-re- 
peated promise, 4 My presence shall go with 
thee ’ ? Let us trust Him fully.” 

The sun had disappeared over the snowy crest 
of the mountain, but in the prolonged twilight 
of those clear-air heights the two men descended 
the winding path without any difficulty, the 
older man leaning upon the arm of the younger. 

Ah, how confidently Doctor Harland had ex- 
pected to have that strong young arm and 
noble heart to lean upon in the coming years* 
One more of earth’s dreams vanishing from 
Doctor Harland’s life! 


ROBERT FENTON. 


289 


XXXV. 

F^okerf * Ber)f©r)j==€]or)fir)uc(J. 

“Ye looked on one, a well- wrought stone, 

A saint of God matured ; 

What chiselings that heart had felt I — - 
What chastening strokes endured! 

Perchance the hammer’s heavy stroke 
O’erthrew some idol fond; 

Perchance the chisel rent in twain 
Some precious, tender bond.” 

§ OON after this they all returned to America. 

Robert Fenton did not make a long stop 
in Weston. Emma Dudley had married George 
Heyward, and was in his home. Robert would 
not allow unhappy memories to disturb him, but 
he was eager to be about his work, and soon 
left for Chicago. 

His appointed work was especially among 
young men ; he sought to win their confidence 
by his pure example, and lead them by earnest 
endeavors and entreaties into the true life in 
Christ Jesus. 

Robert Fenton understood what dangers beset 
the paths of young men, and he knew that 


290 


“ WHY? 


there was no safe, true happiness in this life, 
and no hope for the future, except in Christ. 
Living very near to the Saviour, Robert was 
continually aided in winning others to trust in 
Him. 

Indeed, as the years went on, Robert Fenton 
seemed to hold on to God with one hand, while 
with his other hand he reached down into the 
depths of human sin and misery, and from those 
depths souls were raised up, and washed in the 
atoning blood of the crucified Redeemer, who will 
rejoice in the presence of God forever. 

After a few years of labor in Chicago, a band 
of noble young men were raised up, who became 
willing helpers to Robert. 

A company of these young men went with him 
to San Francisco. There, among the strangely 
varied elements that made up the community, 
Robert Fenton gave himself to the same work 
as in Chicago. A church was formed, and ex- 
panded as the years passed by. 

In San Francisco, Robert met a lady who was 
gentle, refined, and like himself working for the 
Master. He had long felt the need of a home. 
The best natures feel this need the most. So 
Robert won Miss Eldon for his wife, and with 
her he had a quiet, happy home. 

His labors were greatly blessed; many pointed 


ROBERT FENTON. 


291 


to him as the one who led them to their Sav- 
iour. Mr. Fenton loved his work, and never 
grew weary in it, for his own soul rested se- 
renely in the abiding presence of his Divine 
Lord. 

Robert Fenton’s life had in no way been a 
failure. He was now an old man, but still the 
beloved pastor of the church that he gathered 
in the early days of his labors in San Fran- 
cisco. He had an assistant in his pastoral du- 
ties, and but one evening in the week conducted 
the services himself. It was to this service that 
Mrs. Grafton accompanied Mrs. Mason. 

The church-edifice was not an elegant one in 
its exterior, but was spacious and pleasant within. 
This was a week-day gathering, but many peo- 
ple had assembled. The two ministers were 
seated upon the platform. The younger one 
opened the meeting, conducting the preliminary 
exercises. 

When the elder pastor arose to speak, a pro- 
found hush fell over the congregation. There 
was an eager leaning forward, a lighting-up of 
eyes that expressed great love for the pastor, 
and a confidence that what he had to say would 
do them good. 

He was an old man, yet there was no indi- 
cation of spent powers, either in his manner or 


292 


« WHY? 


his knguage. He had the appearance of having 
given himself to a life of earnest activity ; and 
yet some resource had kept his whole being in 
a healthy vigor. It is true that his once dark 
hair was snow-white now, but his broad forehead 
and dark eyes were the same as in his youth, 
and those who knew the aged pastor then, would 
recognize the same smile with which Robert Fen- 
ton always greeted his friends. 

Mr. Fenton’s remarks were a comment upon 
some passages in Isaiah. “ He was wounded for 
our transgressions, He was bruised for our in- 
iquities. A man of sorrows, and acquainted with 
grief. Surely he hath borne our sorrows and 
carried our griefs.” 

“This is a sad but true picture of the aton- 
ing sufferings of man’s Redeemer. Perhaps we 
have so often heard about those sufferings, that 
they have ceased to affect us ; but let us now 
look again, and closer into the meaning of this 
picture. There is not another like it in all the 
universe of God. Is it not worthy, then, of our 
most earnest attention ? 

“ Who is this wonderful bearer of the sins 
and sorrows of earth ? 

“He is ‘the brightness of the Father’s glory/ 
and the ‘express image of His person.’ He is 
‘God manifest in the flesh,’ ‘the Prince of peace.’ 


ROBERT FENTON. 


293 


In Him are united the Divine and human natures. 
Through this human nature He takes upon Him- 
self the sins and sorrows of all who will trust 
in Him. For us ‘He is a man of sorrows and 
acquainted with grief.’ All through the ages, 
since He returned to His throne in Heaven from 
His mediatorial sufferings upon earth, He has 
been saying to every soul, ‘Come unto me; I 
will give you rest.’ 

“Oh! how can any soul reject such a Saviour, 
such a Friend? Most surely He is the only un- 
failing Friend that we can ever find ! 

“Those who trust in Him are not without 
bitter sorrow often ; and you ask, ‘ How does He 
bear our griefs, and give us rest ? ’ It is not 
by taking away the pains, or the feeling of sor- 
row, but He gives to us His own abiding pres- 
ence, so that we rest in His love and unfailing 
care. His own humanity was undefiled by any 
taint of sin, perfectly pure and holy. Yet He 
knows what keen sufferings a human soul is 
capable of enduring, in its struggles with sin 
and sorrow. He comes to our help through His 
own fellowship of suffering. Ah ! He does more 
than that, for He takes our aching, bleeding 
hearts, and holds them close upon His own, till 
the anguish is removed. 

“He is the great Refiner and Purifier of our 


294 


“ WHY? 


souls, but when He places us in the crucible He 
remains with us, He feels with us in the smart- 
ing pain of the furnace, He holds us that we 
may not sink, fainting, in the refining process. 
Not all of God’s dear children understand about 
this ; not every one is chosen in the fiery fur- 
nace, but those whose hearts have been bruised 
and crucified as to earthly joys, know, after a 
time, how wonderfully sweet is the privilege of 
laying all things upon Jesus, and resting in Him. 

“Are there not some here to-night who are in 
great need of Him ? Dear hearts ! You may often 
have been to Him in trouble, and never in vain ; 
but now some crushing sorrow bewilders you, so 
that you do not discern His presence. But surely 
He is near to you. With a tenderness beyond 
even that of a mother, He will bear your griefs 
and carry your sorrows. Only trust Him ! There 
certainly is a sweet rest for the soul in this 
trust. Try it, dear friends! Try it, and you will 
find that it is true ! ” 

It would be impossible to describe in words, 
the earnest, tender pathos with which Mr. Fen- 
ton dwelt upon his theme, — a living, ever-present 
Saviour as a Friend sufficient for the needs of 
every human soul. 

There was nothing especially new to Idnella 
in these thoughts; but they came as precious 


ROBERT FENTON. 


295 


reminders of the Saviour’s help in times past, 
and would He forsake her now ? 

She was still thinking of this, when she heard 
the voice of the old pastor talking to the peo- 
ple about her. It was his custom to go among 
his congregation after the service closed, speak- 
ing a word to each one, and no stranger ever 
left his church without a kindly notice. As he 
took the hand of Mrs. Grafton in greeting, he 
looked into her face with an eager questioning, 
for though her name was unknown to him, yet 
her face was that of a familiar friend. 

“ Where have I met this Mrs. Grafton be- 
fore?’* he thought. 

“ From New England ? And from Weston, 
did you say, Mrs. Grafton? And your father’s 
name was Heyward?” 

Ah ! that explained it. 

What an electric chain of associations flashed 
before his mental vision, as Mr. Fenton looked 
into the pale face before him, tracing there so 
strong a resemblance to the two faces he had 
loved so truly, — his mother’s and Emma Dud- 
ley’s! What vivid memories of the fiery crucible 
of his young manhood ! 

Yet no sadness mingled in the retrospect ; for 
all regret had long since vanished. Not that the 
pure love which blessed his early life was for- 


296 


“ WHY? 


gotten or lost, but the conflict and pain were 
over. 

Those who give to God their entire confidence, 
find that He takes from their souls not only the 
guilt of sin, but the pain of memory. The min- 
istrations of the Divine Friend are the only “ wa- 
ters of Lethe.” While they do not cast all 
memories into oblivion, yet they do remove all 
pain from memory. 

Only those who have received the life that is 
hidden in Christ, are thus blest. No one is re- 
fused who will accept this Divine Redeemer. A 
tested friendship is a trusted friendship ! 

Long years of close walk and loving service 
had brought Robert Fenton into a soul-knowledge 
of God as his Friend. He knew He was perfect 
in all His attributes and ways. A perfect trust 
in a perfect God ! This is the life hidden in 
Christ ! 

Only those who indeed receive this new and 
hidden life, can be fully trusted to meet safely 
every demand of this earthly life. As Idnella 
looked up into the face of this pure-eyed, grand 
old man, she felt sure that he could be trusted 
as a friend, and she was not disappointed. 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


297 


XXXVI. 




“ It is thy heart : 

It must be crushed by pain and smart, 

It must be cleansed by sorrow’s art, 

Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet, 

Ere it will shine a jewel meet 
To lay before ‘Thy dear Lord’s feet.’” 

JM RS. GRAFTON had completed all of her 
yfM 1 arrangements, and was just upon the eve 
of going on to New England, when a very un- 
expected obstacle rose before her. Some one, 

direct from New England, and from Weston, re- 
ported the news as a fact, that the old Dudley 
homestead was altogether in the possession of 
strangers. 

This ,was true only in part. It was true that 
Mrs. Heyward had secured to Idnella and Edith 
her own right in the estate. Idnella had so un- 

derstood it ; but these tidings made her feel that 
she had no right in her old home. This had 

been the only refuge that she could claim, and 

with this closed, she could not go on. Her one 


298 


WHY? 


darling daughter was somewhere in New England, 
and the hope of meeting her had been the only 
bright spot in the mother’s future ; but this, too, 
must be given up ! 

With her broken health, and in her time of 
sorrow, there appeared no refuge in all the wide 
world for Idnella Grafton. 

When every earthly home was closed against 
her, mind and body seemed again sinking in the 
fierce conflict. 

Where can the bruised, sinking heart go, but 
to the Bible and to God ? His precious prom- 
ises are still there, and His revealed will ; but 
what was His will for her ? And why had He 
laid all this terrible sorrow upon her ? There 
must be a wherefore. Was it not now her first 
duty to trust Him fully, and show to all that 
she did not question His love ? If the Lord 
takes away something earthly from us, He cer- 
tainly means to give the soul something heav- 
enly. When one of the Lord’s children is left 
without the protection of an earthly home, the 
meaning is that God would have that soul find 
its only home in Himself ! 

The necessity was laid upon Mrs. Grafton to 
decide these pressing questions, — 

“What can I do? Into what path must I go 
in this wilderness-life ? ” 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


2 99 


Only her Father in Heaven could direct ; she 
looked to Him in pleading prayer. At the same 
time she wrote to some old friends, asking their 
aid in finding a position where her own hands 
could labor and support herself. No such place 
opened for her. 

Some of her friends wrote in reply, — 

“Why, Mrs. Grafton, you are not strong enough 
to work. Where is your son ? ” 

Others wrote and asked her, — 

“ Why have you left your home with your son ? 
You ought to return to him and let him sup- 
port you.” 

Could she tell those friends why she was 
obliged to leave her son ? She could not ; and 
earthly sympathy was now failing her. But she 
was to receive a deeper knowledge of the un- 
failing sympathy and power of her Divine Friend. 
Her mother-heart was being crucified in its pur- 
est earthly love, and her only Helper was the 
crucified Saviour K 

Mrs. Grafton rented a room of her friend, Mrs. 
Mason, gathered a few things about her, and 
began a home for herself. She had not told her 
son why she remained at Mrs. Mason’s ; but in 
her letters tried to encourage him to meet his 
own trials, assuring him that she would need 
his loving letters very often to cheer her lone- 


WHY?” 


300 


liness, and he must do whatever he could to aid 
her. She braced herself up to meet her new 
life 1 With her Bible, and in prayer, she hoped 
to be sustained in this, as she had been in 
former trials. 

Alone, — in a new home, — among strangers, 
and with no earthly arm to depend upon ! This 
was the reality that became more and more a 
tangible fact. She was as sensitive and as lov- 
ing as in her girlhood and wifehood. She had 
learned to love and trust in God; but could she 
live without any earthly love and trusting? Could 
she be made satisfied to cling only to God, her 
unseen Friend ? 

As she lived alone day after day, all the mem- 
ories of the past rolled back like surging waves. 
All the happiness, so precious even in retrospec- 
tion, and the sorrows that were so crushing ! 
The last great sorrow now overshadowed all oth- 
ers ! Not only widowed, but shut away from 
her children ! 

Why ? O, why ? 

Did God intend this to be so? Was it His will? 

She had a rightful home, and a good son, but 
was compelled to give up both, in such a need- 
less way. Ah ! there was such a bitter sting 
in this thought, — “ There was no need of this 
trpuble ! ” 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


301 


And the mother wept in unreconciled grief. 

Few, even of loving mothers, ever cling so 
fondly to their children, as did Idnella Grafton, 
and not many ever suffer as she suffered. No 
one but God knew just what her son Everett 
had been to her. Her loving boy always, her 
kind protector in later years. She had trusted 
him, leaning in such serene confidence upon his 
young manhood. Often she had felt and said, — 

“ Do you not see how kind and good he is ? 
Not many mothers have such a son as I 
have !.” 

Now he had deserted her in this needless, pit- 
iless way! Yes, he was compelled to leave his 
mother to meet life’s hardships alone ! How can 
the mother-heart help its weeping ? 

Is there any wrong in a sorrow like this ? Is 
the love between mother and child as unsub- 
stantial as the mist upon the mountain, that 
winds sweep i|i a moment away ? 

Is any true love ever lost ? Does the purest 
of all earthly love, that of a mother, ever be- 
come annihilated amidst the clashings of earth’s 
selfish interests ? 

Again Mrs. Grafton sank under her new and 
strange trial. Many hours of the day and night 
were spent in bitter weeping, or in prayer. Her 
prayers were not answered by a peace of soul, 


302 


“ WHY? 


for this suffering heart was still an unsubmissive 
one. Its constant feeling was, — 

“ Oh ! my darling son ! My only one ! I can- 
not be shut away from you in this unnecessary 
way ! ” Again and again, the waves of grief 
.swept over her, as she remembered how alto- 
gether needless seemed this trouble ! 

Constantly before her mind rose the unan- 
swered, — 

Why? 

Alone ! all alone ! Must she accept this posi- 
tion for life ? Her heart was being crucified, and 
seemed slowly bleeding to death ! Her mind, 
that had breasted so much upon the sea of life, 
was among the surf-waves, which threatened to 
overthrow completely her reason ; but as one 
amidst dark waters, struggles to grasp anything 
that will aid and save, so now Mrs. Grafton 
tried to grasp and hold on to some promise of 
God. 

Idnella knew not what to think. Was she, 
after all of her experience of God’s loving kind- 
ness, to doubt Him now, and complain of His 
providence ? Was not His hand in this trouble 
also? Was He not wisely good, though He had 
permitted her steps to be turned into this lonely 
path of suffering ? 

She still believed in the kindness of God ; she 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


303 


did love and trust Him. In times of sorrow we 
must go to Him. No one could know this bet- 
ter than she ; and she would not be turned 
away, but clinging to her Bible, tried to find 
some word of promise to clasp, as for life ! 

But a cloud had come between her soul and 
God! 

This bleeding of her mother-heart had made 
her spiritual vision dim. Hope and faith seemed 
gone. The feeling rushed through her soul that 
she was forsaken of God ! Heaven as well as 
earth had deserted her ! 

A wild whirl was upon her brain ! Would the 
sorrows of this long and deeply-tried heart re- 
sult in insanity ? 

No ! O, no ! The tender, pitiful Refiner still 
upheld her ! His presence, though unfelt, still 
sustained her in this crucible ! 

Idnella had never yet given up all to God. Her 
intensely loving nature clung with a strong hold 
upon her son ! This was the conflict between 
her soul and God, to yield an implicit submis- 
sion to Him, an entire giving up of her whole 
being, to do and to suffer His will. 

Why was this not done at once by Idnella, 
who had learned through so many lessons, that 
God could be fully trusted ? 

He who is Infinite Love, knew her struggles, 


304 


WHY? 


and laid no feeling of condemnation upon her 
heart in all her bitter sufferings! But when she 
walked her room rapidly and long, to keep the 
agony of her grieving within control, He gave 
to her some promise of His own, to quiet and 
strengthen her; but as this unreconciled conflict 
continued, He permitted this cloud to wrap about 
her whole being, the feeling that He too had 
forsaken her ! Then there was* no ray of light 
in her soul, no promise given to comfort her. 
This was more than she could bear ! To be shut 
away from her Saviour would be the climax of 
all woes ! 

With a terrified fear that her reason was leav- 
ing her, and at last giving up all to Him, once 
more she knelt in prayer. With earnest plead- 
ing she cried, — 

“Oh! my Father, my Saviour-God, do not leave 
me ! Do not forsake thy weak, distracted child ! 
Help me, O, help me for the sake of Jesus!” 

Some words of the Saviour she had often 
read, came now to her memory, with a new 
and living reality, to her suffering heart. 

“I will not leave you comfortless; I will 
come unto you.” 

“Whatsoever ye ask in my name, I will do it.” 

“All power is given unto Me, in Heaven and 
in earth.” 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


305 


Now the prayer of Idnella’s submissive heart 
was, — 

“I would be wholly Thine! Help me to be 
willing to do and to suffer all of Thy holy 
will ! Let . Thy will be done with me, and 
with my precious children ! I yield them up 
into Thy care! I give up all of earth. Only 
give to me Thine abiding presence!” 

A new and wpnderful peace, which only God 
could give, filled the soul that just before 
was so dark. Again, came those words like 
sweetest music, “Be of good cheer, — it is 
I, — be not afraid.” And — “I will never leave 
thee, nor forsake.” 

Again the Great Physician applied His sooth- 
ing balm to the bruised heart. 

The Good Shepherd brought his panting, 
weary one, into the “Green Pastures” and “Be- 
side the still waters ” of His abiding presence. 

Now He gave to her all His “exceeding 
great and precious promises.” 

With a restfuf joy never felt before, Idnella 
trusted in those promises! They became to her 
conscious faith more valuable, more to be de- 
sired, — yes, far beyond conception, more pre- 
cious, — than all of earth. Mrs. Grafton must still 
meet her lonely life, widowed, homeless, and 
away from her children; but she found rest, — 


30 6 


“ WHY? 


soul-rest and heart-rest, — in this Divine promise: 
*• My presence shall go with thee ; and I will 
give thee rest.’’ 

Beneath the shadow of this Abiding Presence, 
Idnella sits in quiet content within her lonely 
home. Sustained by that Presence, she is borne 
over the troubled waters of many earthly cares, 
toward the opening harbor of Heaven. 

Something of its pure, sweet air, its holy 
atmosphere, its perfect rest, seems at times to 
be wafted to her soul from the farther shore. 
Her joy and hope all center now in her ever- 
present Saviour-God. She is now not only will- 
ing, but eager, to trust Him to direct all her 
steps, and arrange all things for her. 

Had she attained to a life of perfection? 

O no, not in herself ; that is a blessing held 
in reserve and laid up in Heaven ! She had 
only learned the precious lesson of resting by 
faith in a perfect Saviour , and seeking to do 
His will in loving submission. If left to herself 
a moment, she would again sink into unsubmis- 
sive grieving, and desponding fears. 

In herself she is without any merit: without 
righteousness, without holiness; but in and through 
a perfect Saviour, she may claim it all. It is 
all in him! There is, there can be, no perfec- 
tion in humanity, only in Christ Jesus. 


ALONE , YET NOT ALONE. 


30 7 


To all who will abide in Him, He gives His 
own promised “ Peace” and “Rest.” 

The rest, by faith in Jesus. This blessing is 
waiting for all who will accept of His own in- 
vitation, “ Come unto me, and I will give you 
rest.” 


308 


“ WHY? 


XXXVII. 

(pld • Bpicrjds. 


“All the needful, sweet corrections 
Of this gentle hand of Thine, 

All Thy wise and careful nurture, 

All Thy faultless discipline: 

All to purge the precious metal 
Till it will reflect Thy face : 

All to shape and polish jewels, 

Thine own diadem to grace.” 

— A. C. 


San Francisco, Cal., 18 — . 

lISS EDITH ASHTON: 

Never-forgotten, Dear Friend, 

“ After another period of silent years, I am permitted 
to write to you again. This opportunity is to me 
most unexpected, and most gratifying. Can you think 
how pleased I am to speak again to such a friend 
as you were to me in my young manhood? Truly, 
my best friend. 

“Allow me to say a word about myself before I 
speak of other matters. 

“After I wrote to you from Fort Oakland, I went 
with some of our soldiers to the upper Pacific coast. 


OLD FRIENDS. 


309 


They were guarding the frontier, and we remained in 
that vicinity for many years. 

“I was still the army-surgeon and a self-appointed 
chaplain. My efforts for the best good of the men 
were blest of God. I would be content to live and die 
in this work ; but my health has become now inadequate 
to meet the duties of an army-surgeon. My advisers 
assure me that it is best for me to leave the climate 
of the Pacific coast. 

“Intending to go on soon to New England, I made 
a stop a few weeks since in San Francisco, to see 
an old friend who is a physician there. Soon after 
my arrival, Doctor Minturn began to speak of one of 
his new patients, in whom he felt much interest. He 
said, — 

“ ‘ I knew when I first saw her that she had lived 
through almost everything! Since then, I have learned, 
through others, that this is very true. She has had 
severe trials in the past; and is now meeting some 
great sorrow. She has a very nervous temperament, 
with delicate sensibilities; and, of course, with ardent 
affection for friends and home. She is alone, — among 
strangers, — is now in frail health, and meeting some 
heavy sorrow. Yet she is calmly quiet; too quiet, 
under all of her circumstances, for normal, human 
nature. She did not ask for medical advice ; a lady 
who had become interested for her sent for me. I 
wish you would call with me and see what you think 
of her. If there is any brain apathy, she is in a 
danger I must meet at once.’ 


3io 


WHY?” 


“ I went with him to see his patient. He took me 
to the third floor of a tenement-house, into a small 
chamber. I saw at a glance how plain, yet refined, 
were all the furnishings of the room. As we entered 
I saw a lady sitting in an easy rocker by the open 
window, watching the clouds or the tossing waves of 
the Pacific. In her face was a far-away look, but it 
was a peaceful one. 

“She turned fully towards me, as Doctor Minturn 
introduced me to * Mrs. Grafton.’ I then recognized 
a school-mate of my boyhood, — your cousin, Idnella 
Heyward. The recognition was mutual, and the meet- 
ing most unexpected to both of us. With a low cry, 
Mrs. Grafton exclaimed, — 

“ ‘ Oh, Howard Fielding ! ’ and clasped my hand 
within both her own. She was perfectly still, as she 
struggled to control her emotions; but she became so 
pale that the doctor was anxious, and I hastened to 
explain to him that Mrs. Grafton and myself were 
school-children together in New England. Old asso- 
ciations were revived in seeing me, but I thought 
they would not injure his patient. So it proved. 
After the first excitement was over, Doctor Minturn 
could see that it was indeed a quieting tonic for Mrs. 
Grafton to meet memories of her far-away girlhood, 
and of her home in Weston. 

“Doctor Minturn also soon understood that I could 
solve the mystery why Mrs. Grafton was enduring her 
trials so quietly. He had no personal knowledge of 
the Christian’s hope in Christ. Of course its wonder- 


OLD FRIENDS. 


311 


ful sustaining power was a mystery to him. Some- 
times he had said, ‘ If these things are true, why 
don’t people live them out better ? ’ 

“In Mrs. Grafton he saw the words of our Saviour 
exemplified : 4 In the world ye shall have tribulation ; 

but’ in me — peace ! ’ 

“Doctor Minturn no longer doubted the reality of 
this, as he watched his patient meeting her rough, 
lonely life. Willing to die, or willing to live, — just 
as God thought best! The Doctor was convinced that 
there was no apathy of the brain, in her calm sub- 
mission. Her brain was, indeed, too active; but kept 
under control through her trust in God. 

“You will remember how very sensitive your cousin 
used to be; she is the same now, but she has learned 
to take everything to God in prayer. One day she said 
to me : — 

“‘Our Father in Heaven has taken from me, one 
after another, everything of earth that my heart could 
rest in; but He gives to me now all things in Him- 
self! I have had precious joys in precious friends; 
but there are no joys like those I now find in Jesus. 
No friend like him, — what a friend He is! So per- 
fect in all His attributes! The one God, — yet our 
Redeemer, our Almighty Friend ! He is so loving, and 
forgiving, and patiently forbearing with us, in our sins 
and weakness. 

“‘I have been made willing to live alone without 
earthly friends; but I cannot live without my Saviour- 
God. 


312 


WHY ? 


“‘ Doctor Fielding, have you learned to know Him 
as your abiding, ever-present Friend? One with us 
in our lonely path; a Friend willing to listen any 
moment, as we go to Him in our daily needs; a 
strong- Helper, and a sure Refuge. Oh! it is an in- 
effable privilege to trust all things to His care ; to 
lay down a tired, aching heart close beneath the shadow 
of His presence ! ’ 

“Surely your cousin has been taught of God how 
to find rest by faith in Jesus. 

“At intervals Mrs. Grafton has given me the out- 
lines of her sad life. As I listened, I could but won- 
der as Doctor Minturn did, how she lived through 
them; but she reveals the secret while she is telling 
the story: God kept her! 

“Her trials in leaving Benton she cannot talk about. 
Once she began to tell me something of her home 
in Benton, and her son ; but at once her lips began 
to tremble, and all she could say was this : ‘ My 

precious, noble boy; he never meant to have his 
mother wronged.’ 

“ At times I have led Mrs, Grafton’s thoughts back 
to the old school-house in Weston, and then Edith 
has been with us again. How happy we all were in 
those days ! How cloudless those after-years of our 
own opening future, when we anticipated that our 
united path would be one of flowers and sunshine. In- 
stead of that, came our crucible of sorrow, and rous;h. 
lonely, years. 

“ When I think of you and your cousin Idnella, 


OLD FRIENDS. 


313 


two most delicate, loving hearts, shrinking from even 
an unkind look, and remember what trials came to 
you both, the questioning springs up again and again: 
‘ Why ? Ah, why ? ’ 

“ And the answer ever is, ‘To bring the soul nearer 
to the Captain of our salvation, who was made perfect 
through suffering.’ 

“Ah, yes! and so there is in Him a fellowship of 
suffering with all whom He places in the ‘Fiery Fur- 
nace/ and through this He prepares them for some 
special service for Himself. 

“If you and I have been among that chosen num- 
ber, is it not well? Yes; and now and evermore our 
glad evangel must be, ‘ Our Father in Heaven doeth all 
things well.’ 

“And now I am prepared to write you some news 
that will make you sing for joy. Your cousin Idnella 
decides to go on to Weston. You know that this was 
her intention when she left Benton, and before she 
knew that you had returned from India. You know 
why she remained jn San Francisco. We have not 
thought that she would live long, and surely never 
be strong enough to go to New England; but she 
seems much better. You know that Mrs. Grafton’s 
only daughter is in New England; the anticipation of 
sometime meeting this daughter comforted the mother 
when she left her son. Now she says, ‘Oh, if I can 
only see my darling daughter once more ! ’ 

“Mrs. Grafton is evidently stronger; but I think 
that the hope of meeting again her Emma and you 


3H 


“ WHY? 


is nerving her up to undertake this journey. She will 
not go alone. You have heard of a wonderful min- 
ister in San Francisco, — I am happy to have met him 
here. He certainly is one of the most noble of men, — 
a rare, Christian man. His very presence is a bene- 
diction to all who meet him. 

“Did you ever know that he was once an especial 
friend of your Aunt Emma ? He and his wife have 
been very kind to Mrs. Grafton ; she has been in 
their home some time. They intend to go with her 
to Weston. Will you write to them soon, telling them 
if they can expect a welcome with Idnella? 

“And now, dear friend, may I say some things for 
myself ? Soon after I met Mrs. Grafton, she told me 
that you had returned from India to the old home 
in Weston. 

“Ah! what memories of you and of that home sprang 
to life and hope, from the buried past. Buried ? Yes ; 
but not forgotten. As I could not cherish a hope of 
meeting you again in this life, I would not allow 
memory to dwell upon the past, and laid it tenderly 
away. 

“You are again in Weston, your health injured 
through your labors in India. Now, with a strong 
desire, I wish to hasten to meet you in Weston, and 
be permitted to take care of you, as I once so surely 
expected to do. 

“I am no longer young ; but the love I gave to 
you in my youth still lives, as truly as in those far- 
off years when our marriage seemed so sure and so 


OLD FRIENDS. 


315 


near; only the love has become purified and exalted. 
Would there not be a rare happiness in our union 
now, after all of these years of change and suffering? 

“ My dear friend, — my Edith, once, — are you will- 
ing to welcome Howard Fielding again ? He went 

from you, in his proud wilfulness, to meet the hard 

discipline needed to bring him into a better life. He 

loved you then ; but not with the pure tenderness 
with which he would now return to you. 

“ Do not hesitate to grant my request from any 

considerations about your state of health ; only allow 
me to take care of you the remainder of our life upon 
earth. 

“ Will you tell me, if, when you welcome your cousin 
and her friends, you will give the same welcome, as 
in the olden time, to 


HOWARD FIELDING ? " 


316 


WHY?" 


XXXVIII. 


^lf • E^erjliele.. 


“Thither we hasten through these regions dim; 

But, lo ! the white wings of the seraphim 
Shine in the sunset.” 

J |I GAIN it is a summer evening in June. 

The air is full of bird-song and the per- 
fume of flowers. There will be one of our most 
beautiful sunsets ; for many lovely-tinted clouds 
cluster about the sun, as he lingers low in the 
West. The outlook from beneath those old pop- 
lars is the same as in those far-off years, when 
cousin Idnella and I sat here together, talking 
of our young life-dreams. 

Ah ! how like a dream is all of this earthly 
life ! The true awakening will come in the future 
life. Is this a dream, or something true, that 
my cousin Idnella is now on her way to New 
England ? 


AT EVENTIDE. 


31 7 


Indeed it must be true, for a note from her 
own hand now lies before me ; and she says, — 

“Dear Edith, my hope is strong that I shall 
see you again. I think this hope of seeing you 
and my darling daughter nerved me up to leave 
California. Mr. Fenton and his wife have been 
to me the kindest of friends. I owe all of my 
present comforts to them. 

“We stop at this place a few days for needed 
rest, so I send this little note to you. We will 
all be with you by the tenth of June.” 

And now it is the tenth of June. To-night I 
am waiting to welcome my darling, long-tried 
Idnella back to her childhood-home. How my 
heart bounds at the prospect ! And then to 

meet Mr. Fenton, my Aunt Heyward’s noble 
friend, and his wife. 

They must be even now very near Weston ! 
But there is another friend with them, whose 
coming I anticipate in a strange expectancy, — 
my affianced husband again, — Howard Fielding! 

Could I have refused to send the word to 

Howard that would bring him to me now; or 

failed to give to him the welcome he asked of 

me? Oh, no! for the love has remained the 
same, — only shut away in my heart through all 
of these years. 

Howard Fielding and myself are no longer 


3i8 


WHY? 


3^oung in years ; but what does that matter, when 
the heart remains young ? 

Those to whom God comes the nearest, through . 
great sorrows and testing trials, — such hearts never 
become old. The purest love that God gives to 
man and woman for each other, has a perennial 
youth ! 

Amid the splendor of this June sunset, and 
with long-ago memories thronging back upon me, 

I am waiting with a restored eagerness to give 
Howard Fielding the same welcome as in the 
olden time. 

What a home-coming this will be to all of 
us! Since my return from India, — three years 
ago, — my own life has been a secluded, lonely 
one. 

Cousin Idnella, after so many sad years, re- 
turns to her life’s first home. Associations and 
memory might overwhelm her now, if she were 
not so securely hidden within the “Rock of Ages.” 
She is feeble in health, but we hope to hold 
her with us a long time yet. She would gladly 
welcome the “Opening of the Mystic Gate” 
that will admit her into the immediate presence 
of Him who has been her only unfailing Friend! 

Mr. Fenton returns to the scenes of his young 
life as a noble, old veteran from a victorious 
war. . With unfaltering ardor and undiminished 


AT EVENTIDE. 


319 


vigor, he labored on far into old age. Then the 
summons came suddenly to him to lay aside 
his armor, for his soldier-work was done. 

Amid the regretful tears of his devoted people, 
he resigned his pastoral charge, and immediately 
left San Francisco with his wife and Mrs. Graf- 
ton. 

Robert Fenton can truly say, in the words of 
St. Paul, “I have fought a good fight, I have 
kept the faith, I am now ready, and the time 
of. my departure is at hand.” To one like Mr. 
Fenton, death can have no terrors! A loving 
soul going to meet its unfailing Friend, — to a 
home of endless joy and rest. 

Mr. Fenton has lived very near that Unseen 
World and his Saviour for many years. The 
keen disappointment and “ Fiery Crucible” of 
his youth and early manhood, in a little time 
accomplished the refining that might have taken 
long years. In his living by faith upon God, 
success in his work has been the record of his 
life. 

Now, for a time, we shall all remain together 
in this old home. We are all like soldiers re- 
turned from many a hard conflict; or like pil- 
grims after long journeyings over many rough 
mountain-paths. 

People about us looked on at our trials and 


320 


“ WHY? 


varied discipline, and called us unfortunate, and 
pitied us ; but the meaning and the result of 
God’s dealings with His children are always hid- 
den from the knowledge of the world, — even as 
His tender, sustaining love is- unknown to the 
thoughtless world. 

Even Christians do not always understand the 
whole meaning of God’s dispensations with them, 
and they too often impatiently ask, “Why must 
it be so with us?” 

Yes, we have all been long in the refining 
crucible. Bright dreams faded, sweet flowers by 
our way-side, and fond hopes that we cherished, 
withered too soon for our hearts’ content. 
Precious joys of earth vanished too soon from 
our sight. 

This wrought no harm to any of us, for Heaven 
gave to us its treasured hopes in exchange. 
We have all learned in truth, that the Refiner, 
who sits watching the crucible of our lives, is a 
Being of such infinite tenderness, that He never 
adds one needless pang to the refining process. 

Our Father and Saviour, our gentle, faithful, 
soul-purifier, how truly have we learned to trust 
Him, to love Him, to rest in Him, even while 
in the testing crucible ! He has again and again 
always proved Himself to be the only Unfailing 
Friend. 


AT EVENTIDE. 


321 


We are now fully convinced that in His love 
and kindness He keeps our souls in His crucible 
only until the dross of sin is wholly consumed. 
When that process is completed, and our puri- 
fied souls reflect His own image, then are they 
prepared as jewels for the crown of His redeem- 
ing love. 

“It doth not yet appear what we shall be. But we know 
that when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall 
see Him as He is.” — / Johtt^ : 2. 








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